AN: Thank you for review/favourites/follows :) Only the first POV was beta'd (Thanks MissMe13). I added most of this afterwards so hopefully it's okay. Remember this is speculative S9 - I am spoiler free.
ONE WEEK AFTER THE ANGELS FELL
"You know when he wakes up; I'd like to tell him I'm sorry."
"For what? Trying to kill us? Turning Cas against us? Taking Bobby's soul? Being a dick?"
"Oi, I gave the old man his legs back!"
"You held his soul for ransom!"
"He was alright in the end," Crowley muttered.
Dean yanked on the strap extra hard causing him to hiss. "He got shot in the fucking head - what's your definition of alright?"
These humans and their semantics. "And remind me again; whose soul made it to the pearly gates up above...what's that? Bobby? Why yes, it did?"
"That was Sam's doing, not yours." Oh Dean, you wound me.
"And hence the reason why I would like to apologize - he was in the cage with two pissed off angels...Purgatory could have broken him." Crowley felt a tiny thread of gratefulness worm into his voice. Really? Well, you always did have a soft spot for the Winchesters…damn that bloody moose! He shook his head trying to get rid of these unsettling feelings.
Dean looked up sharply, pulling out his ringing cell. "Garth...I'm on my way...no, tell him to stay put...I don't care! Christ, I'll be there in…" he took a glance at the time, "…three hours, give or take. If he's gone then I'm going to kick his ass...and yours too."
"Need any assistance?" Crowley said craning his neck.
"Not from you."
"What about Sam's little issue?
"What issue?" He saw Dean's back stiffen.
"Don't play dumb. It doesn't suit you. I mean the little bit of me that's inside him. You should be thankful; there are kinkier ways it could've happened."
Like a snake striking out, Dean was suddenly in his face. "What did you do to him?"
"Just a little friendly exchange of bodily fluids. He injected me with his blood. I left some of my saliva in his arm. You know how it is?" The fist to the jaw was completely expected.
"Crowley, tell me or so help me God, I will leave you to rot in here."
"No you won't. You can't. Got little Sammy Winchester to think about, don't you Deano?"
"I'll take my chances. Nothing more than the sound of your own voice to keep you company? It'll drive you insane." Dean walked away muttering curses under his breath.
"I highly doubt that." Turning his head back to stare at the floor, he watched the shine of the light vanishing into nothing more than a sliver before a quick flick of the switch flooded the dungeon with a pale, barely visible yellow. Sighing, he tilted his head back and closed his eyes breathing out. "Home sweet home."
_?_?_
Dean clenched his hands around the steering wheel replaying Crowley's words in his head. Sam was going to be fine. He didn't need that smarmy son of bitch's help.
It had been a sixteen hour drive to the little town that Garth had called him to. When exited the car he walked over to church ducking his head in the door.
"Hey Pete? Garth called, said you had some angel-amnesiacs for me."
"You threatened to kill me if I left." A scoff. "As if I would leave." Peter looked up from the book he was reading. "They're at the hospital."
The answer surprised him. "I thought you would with them, comforting their poor souls of whatever?" He sat down next to the priest.
"How exactly do you propose I offer such comfort? 'Hello. You are an angel of the lord, you fell from the sky. The fall didn't kill you, but you don't remember anything. Would you like to stay in my storage cupboard until I find a place for you all?'"
The sarcasm drew a smile from him. "You could always put them under the stairs...like a Harry Potter deal?"
"Cute. You read that or wait for the movies?"
"What do you think?" Dean said smirking.
Peter let out a chuckle, standing. "Just give me a moment." When Peter returned they set out for the hospital.
"Is Sam doing okay? And you know I don't condone lying."
Dean drummed his fingers on the steering wheel...
He had met Peter by accident whilst living with Lisa. He was walking home from the bar when he'd been attacked by a demon. Only a couple of months had passed since Sam had jumped into the pit and for the most part, he had started to relax. The gun tucked into the back of his jeans now lived in the bottom of his bed side drawer, in a locked box. The knife under his pillow had migrated to the trunk of the Impala. The Impala...the poor baby, lived under a sheet.
He was out of practise and there was nothing more dangerous than a hunter that had let his defences down. He didn't know that until after he was pinned to the side of a brick wall with a demon right in his face, knife to his side, the smell of sulphur entering his nose. For a brief moment, he had cursed himself, and Sam, for believing that he could do normal. The knife pressing into his side piercing the skin was a very big reminder of why he couldn't…
And then Peter had shown up. A Latin exorcism flowing from his mouth just like the black demon smoke flowed out of the poor possessed bastard. He had tried to calm Dean down, mistaking the heavy breathing and silence for shock.
It wasn't until Dean mentioned that it would be safer to bring Holy Water as backup - 'just in case shit happens' - that Peter had confessed his story.
They had traded numbers, at Dean's insistence, and then Peter had left and Dean had returned home to Lisa and Ben.
The family, much to Lisa and Ben's confusion and worry, moved a week later into a brand new house. The gun returned, tucked back into his jeans, the knife lived in the first drawer of his bedside table.
The Impala remained under the sheet.
…"Um, sorry what did you ask?"
"Sam." Peter looked out the window. "There's something you aren't telling me."
Scrubbing a hand across his mouth, he fought the urge to keep silent. He reminded himself that he needed all the allies he could get, and that Peter was a damn good one to have on his side. "Sam was completing trails to close the Gates of Hell." From his peripheral, he noticed Peter tense up. "The last trial was to 'cure a demon'. We were all ready for it - we wanted to complete it. Sam had to inject his blood into the demon a couple of times, say some spell and then it would be over…"
"I presume something went wrong?"
"Depends on your definition of 'wrong'. When he was doing the trial, the demon bit him in the arm. He patched himself up. We almost completed the trials...but I couldn't let him finish it."
"Why not?"
"'Cause...he'd die, and I will not let that happen." Dean waited for the admonishment, the idea that the lives of many should outweigh the one - that he should have let Sam die to close the gates.
"You think the fluid swapping did something to Sam." He looked at Peter, surprised at the serene look on his face. "You did the right thing. Look at what happened, Dean. The angels have fallen, if Sam had died, we'd be a man down. If this is God's plan, then I'm not gonna question it," he lowered his voice, "I realise that you think that he's left the building. Allow me to have my faith."
Nodding stiffly, he slowed the Impala, entering the hospital parking lot. "Let's go interview some amnesiacs."
Two hours and fifteen patients later they called it quits.
"You look especially disappointed Dean. I realise that it probably wasn't the outcome you were looking for." When he didn't say anything Peter sighed. "There's something else, isn't there?"
In for a penny, in for a pound, he rationalised. "Me and Sam met a few angels, in the past couple of years. There was one who, stuck around, longer than most. I don't know what happened to him."
"Are we looking for him?"
"Yeah."
"So you have no interests in the amnesiacs?"
"I never said that." Peter smiled, Dean shifted from foot to foot. "Look, he was pretty messed up by the end of this and yeah this whole thing is sorta his fault and, man, I don't know. I just want to know that he's alright. Is that a crime?"
"It's never a crime to care Dean Winchester. You of all people should know that."
_?_?_
Castiel was struck dumb. That car...why was that car outside the church? Sunlight struck the front of the Impala, reflecting off the shiny surface.
He had left the church and went to the little hardware store intending to buy nails and a latch for the church gate. When he returned, there was a note on the table with the words:
James, I'm going out for a while.
Leave the things on the table and I'll take care of it later.
Thanks.
Following the notes instructions, he placed the bag of items on the table and spent the rest of his time sitting quietly in his room. Contemplation was not only his solace, but also his punishment.
And when he walked out of the little house and into the backdoor of the church, he was sure he was being punished.
"I hope you aren't going to do anything foolish." Peter's tone one was of long-suffering annoyance.
Dean. The rough voice was unmistakable. "I'll do what's necessary." Castiel took a step back lurking behind the door. From his line of sight he could see Dean sitting on the left side pews near the middle of the church. Dean looked a little pale with shadows under his eyes and scruffiness along his jaw.
"Even if it kills you?"
Dean stood and began walking out of the church. "Well, I got no one to look out for me so...yeah." The bitter tone on his voice made Castiel's shoulder slumped. If he thought that he could help Dean in any way, then he would've revealed himself to be alive and well. The church became silent. He could here murmuring and the distinct whisper of, 'Someone else is here.'
Peter's calm voice tricked over to him. "It's probably James. Don't worry about it. I've checked him out and he's clean."
A hunter? Castiel decided to retreat back to the house but the worry gnawing at the pit of his stomach did not disappear with Dean's leaving.
_?_?_
"I do not appreciate deviation from the script."
"To be honest. I thought we threw it out after me and Sam refused to play our parts." Cockiness will only get you so far.
Death favoured a look at Dean.
He had come willingly of course. He did not need to be tied down to listen to good ideas. Unlike Lucifer, Dean, for the most part, respected the natural order of things. Though of course, like any human, he had faults...well, one in particular.
He shouldn't have expected anything less when Dean's summon was to be in relation to the young Winchester.
Taking a bit of his pizza he surveyed Dean who had pushed away his plate of pasta and leaned back in his chair.
"Is this gonna get bad?"
Yes, my boy. This is going to get very bad. "I cannot imagine that it will be good."
"What do we do?"
Ever the hero. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" Dean sounded incredulous.
"What would you have me do Dean? Put the angels back into heaven."
"Um...yeah?"
"Eloquence is not your strong point."
Flustered for a moment, it looked as if Dean was going to stand up at walk out. Instead the Winchester surprised him by taking a deep breath and a sip of his water. "You're Death. You will reap God. You have the power of life and death literally in your hands. I'm thinking that you can do whatever the hell you want - how's that for eloquence?"
Not impressive, but credit to where it's due. "It is not my place to fix mistakes. As I said, this world is very, very, far down on the pecking order."
"What about Sam?" Even further down the order than you are I'm afraid.
"Dean. Let's be clear about this. I am not a preforming monkey. Further to the point, I am not your preforming monkey. I got you to respect the natural order and do not think for a second that I will allow you to forget that."
An undercurrent of fury was detected in Dean's voice. "You're telling me my brother's going to die."
Taking a sip of his coke Death shrugged his shoulder. "Inevitably."
AN: Yay Death! He's an awesome character but I must admit, quite difficult to write. I hope I did alright. Thanks for reading. :)