Chapter Seven

Bobby drew a symbol with white spray paint on the cement floor of an empty, abandoned barn they had found on the side of a country road. He had just finished covering the floor, walls and ceiling with symbols on every inch he could get to.

Dean stood at a table, setting up weapons and supplies. "That's a hell of an art project you've got going there."

"Traps and talismans from every faith on the globe," said Bobby. "How you two doing?"

Sam gestured to the table full of weapons. "Stakes, iron, silver, salt, knife. We're pretty much set to catch and kill anything we've ever heard of."

Bobby sighed. "This is still a bad idea."

"Yeah, Bobby, I heard you the first ten times," said Dean. "What do you say we ring the dinner bell?"

Bobby nodded reluctantly and walked over to the other table, taking a pinch of powder from a bowl and sprinkling it into a larger bowl. The bowl emitted smoke as Bobby started chanting the ritual. When he finished, sparks joined the smoke, flying up from the bowl. As the smoke and sparks died, Sam, Dean and Bobby turned, ready for whatever was about to appear.

Dean sat on the table full of weapons, twiddling Ruby's knife in his hands. Sam leaned on the table next to him, the salt gun limp in his hand. Bobby sat on the table across from them, staring around the barn in boredom. They had been waiting for the thing they had summoned for a half hour now, and so far…nothing.

"You sure you did the ritual right?" Dean muttered at Bobby.

Bobby glared at him.

"Sorry," said Dean. He glanced over at Sam. "Touchy, touch, huh?"

Sam smiled a little at that before bangs began echoing around the large barn. They all looked up at the roof to see the panels rattling against the support beams. They jumped away from the tables, growing tense as they shouldered salt guns.

"Wishful thinking, but maybe it's just the wind," said Dean.

But he knew it wasn't. Not two seconds after the ceiling had started rattling, he had gotten that sixth sense again; something was coming.

The door at the far end of the barn creaked open, splintering the crossbeam they had put across it. A man in a suit and trench coat stood outside the door, calmly walking towards them. The light bulbs hanging above them began shattering in a shower of sparks as the man approached. He seemed to stroll through the sparks and falling glass as though they were not there.

Once most of the sparks had fallen, the three hunters raised their shotguns, opening fire. The salt rounds hit the man in the chest, shredding holes in his shirt, but not phasing him whatsoever. They exchanged glances before moving to surround the man, who Dean now assumed was Castiel, and they put down their shotguns.

Dean grabbed Ruby's knife from the table, holding it behind his back. "Who are you?"

"I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition," said the man in a deep voice.

Dean frowned at the calm tone in his voice, certain with that confession that this was, indeed, Castiel. "Yeah…Thanks for that."

Faster than Sam could see, Dean lunged forward, burying the knife up to the hilt in Castiel's chest, right through his heart. As Castiel just stood there, Dean stepped back and stared down at the knife. Castiel glanced nonchalantly down at the knife, grasping it and pulling it from his chest with an unruffled look at Dean. Dean glanced over at Sam and Bobby, unnerved that the knife had no effect, just like the salt guns.

Bobby raised a crowbar and swung it at Castiel. Castiel's hand came up and caught the crowbar, turning towards Bobby and putting two fingers to his forehead. Bobby slowly collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Or dead… Dean thought in horror.

"You—" began Dean, launching himself towards Castiel.

He swung several punches at Castiel, but each and every swing was taken calmly by Castiel. Every kick and punch didn't seem to set him off in the slightest; he seemed set on only waiting out the fight. Each blow stung Dean's hand, and Dean felt as though he were punching a concrete wall. Dean raised his leg to kick Castiel, who caught his foot. Dean punched him across the face to release his foot, and then he reared his arm back, aiming straight for the center of Castiel's face. Not one inch from his face, Castiel's hand had suddenly caught Dean's face, holding tight onto his hand.

"We need to talk, Dean," said Castiel.

Dean narrowed his eyes at Castiel. "Talk? You wanna talk after what you did?" He gestured with a glance down at Bobby on the floor.

"Your friend's alive," Castiel told him. "He is merely asleep." He opened his hand, releasing Dean's hand and lowering his own hand.

Dean pulled his fist back, bringing it back down to his side and standing at the ready in front of Castiel.

"We need to talk, Dean," Castiel repeated. He looked towards Sam. "Alone."

"Anything you tell me, Sam is just gonna hear later anyway, so you might as well lay it on me," Dean told him.

Castiel looked back at Dean. "Very well."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, I'm so glad we worked that out before Bobby got knocked out."

Castiel merely walked over to one of the tables as Sam backed slowly away from him. His total indifference to Dean's attitude only set Dean off more. Here Dean was being all smartass, and the guy didn't even glare at him, or—hell—even a look of shock would do. As Sam moved towards Dean and away from Castiel, Dean caught his eye and motioned towards Bobby. Sam moved over to Bobby, checking on him. When Sam nodded at him, Dean glanced back over at Castiel, glaring at him. Castiel was flipping through one of their lore books with a mildly interested look.

"Who are you?" asked Dean.

"Castiel," the man supplied.

"Yeah, I figured that much," said Dean. "I mean, what are you?"

Castiel gazed over at Dean with an intent look. "I'm an angel of the Lord."

Dean's gaze hardened as he glared at Castiel. He could feel Sam's interest from there; he knew Sam was very pro-angel. "Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing."

Castiel stepped away from the table, facing him fully. "This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith."

Lightning flashed, and great shadowy wings appeared behind Castiel's back, unfurling and stretching up towards the ceiling. Dean stared in shock as the lightning stopped.

Dean watched the blinding figure drawing closer to him. He didn't know what the figure was, but he knew it couldn't be a man. There were great blinding…things coming out on either side of the figure's back. It was too bright to see the figure properly; Dean could barely keep his eyes open and pointed at the figure.

Dean stared at the spot where the wings had vanished, understanding now that this was indeed the figure he'd seen pull him out of hell. He glanced over at Sam, who was looking up at him in awe and renewed hope. He looked back at Castiel. "Well, some angel you are. You burned out that poor woman's eyes."

"I warned her not to spy on my true form," Castiel told him. "It can be…overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that."

"You mean the gas station and the motel…" muttered Dean. "That was you talking?"

Castiel nodded.

"Buddy, next time, lower the volume," said Dean.

"That was my mistake," said Castiel. "Certain people—special people—can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong."

"And what visage are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant?"

Castiel looked down at his trench coat, lightly touching it. "This? This is…" he looked up at Dean, "a vessel."

Dean frowned at him. "You're possessing some poor bastard?"

"He's a devout man. He actually prayed for this."

"Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really?"

Castiel frowned at him, appearing confused as to why Dean did not believe what he was saying. "I told you."

"Right. And why would an angel rescue me from hell?"

"Good things do happen, Dean."

"Not in my experience."

Castiel frowned even further, puzzled by Dean's flippant, pessimistic attitude. "What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?"

Dean stared at him. "Why'd you do it?"

"Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

Dean frowned at him. "Work? What do you mean, work?"

"All in good time," Castiel told him, turning away from him. "We will speak soon."

The next second, Castiel had vanished into thin air. Dean looked around the room, trying to see where he had gone to.

"I don't believe it…" Sam muttered in awe.

Dean looked at him. "Yeah, me neither."

Sam looked up at him in confusion.

"Come on, Sam, you can't actually believe he's an angel," Dean threw at him.

"Well, then, tell me what else it could be," said Sam.

"Look, all I know is I was not groped by an angel," said Dean.

"Okay, look, Dean. Why do you think Castiel would lie to you about it?"

"Maybe he's some kind of demon. Demons lie." Even as Dean said it, he didn't really believe it. The figure he saw in hell definitely wasn't a demon. But Dean was grasping at straws, trying to leave angels as his last choice.

"A demon who's immune to salt rounds and devil's traps and Ruby's knife? Dean, you described the thing you saw in hell yourself. What other name could you put to that than 'angel'?"

"Don't you think that if angels were real, that some hunter somewhere would have seen one…at some point, ever?"

"Yeah. We just did, Dean."

"I'm trying to come up with a theory here, okay? Work with me."

"Dean, we have a theory."

"Yeah, one with a little less fairy dust on it, please." Dean just did not want to admit they had really landed in an episode of Touched by an Angel.

"Okay, look. I'm not saying we know for sure. I'm just saying that I think we—"

"Okay, okay. That's the point. We don't know for sure, so I'm not gonna believe that this thing is a freaking angel of the Lord because it says so!"

"He didn't just say so, Dean," Sam told him. "You saw him yourself…twice."

Dean shook his head, turning away from him.

"Dean, this is good news," said Sam.

Dean turned back to him. "How?"

"Because for once, this isn't just another round of demon crap," said Sam. "I mean, maybe you were saved by one of the good guys, you know?"

"Okay. Say it's true. Say there are angels. Then, what? There's a God?"

"I'm betting, yeah."

"I don't know…"

"Okay, look. I know you're not all choirboy about this stuff, but this is becoming less and less about faith and more and more about proof."

"Proof? What proof? All I've seen is a figure made of light that pulled me out of hell and then practically shattered my eardrums—along with all the glass in the place, twice—before showing me something that looks like wings and telling me he's an angel."

"Well, then, Bobby will look it up, and you'll have your proof."

"Proof that there's a God out there that actually gives a crap about me personally? I'm sorry, but I'm not buying it."

Sam huffed out a frustrated sigh. "Why not?"

Dean looked over at him. "Because why me? If there is a God out there, why would he give a crap about me?"

"Dean—"

"I mean, I've saved some people, okay? I figured that made up for the stealing and the ditching chicks. But why do I deserve to get saved? I'm just a regular guy."

"Apparently, you're a regular guy that's important to the man upstairs."

"Well, that creeps me out. I mean, I don't like getting singled out at birthday parties, much less by…God."

"Okay, well, too bad, Dean, because I think he wants you to strap on your party hat," said Sam.

"What's that about a party?" said Bobby suddenly from the floor.

They both looked down at him as he opened his eyes and sat up.

"Hey, Bobby, you okay?" asked Dean.

"That depends, you gonna answer my question?" asked Bobby as he climbed to his feet with Sam.

"Uh, nothing," muttered Sam.

Bobby looked around the barn. "Where'd he go?"

"He went poof," said Dean.

Bobby glanced over at him.

"Literally," said Dean. "Disappeared into thin air."

"Well, what'd you guys find out?" asked Bobby.

"I got pulled out of hell by Michael Landon," Dean told him.

Bobby frowned a little.

"Sam'll explain," said Dean, waving his hand as he headed for the door.

As Dean walked out of the barn and began heading for the Impala, listening to Sam telling Bobby all about what Castiel had told them. Dean leaned against the fender of the Impala, waiting for Sam to finish talking to Bobby. After a few minutes, Bobby's Chevelle started up and pulled away from the barn. Sam walked up to the Impala, but instead of heading for the passenger door, he leaned up against the fender next to Dean. Dean frowned and waited for whatever was obviously on Sam's mind. After what felt like an eternity, Sam finally spoke. But what came out of his mouth was the last thing Dean ever expected to hear.

"Ruby made my powers stronger by feeding me demon blood," said Sam.

Dean's eyes widened as he whipped his head around to stare at Sam in shock. "What?"

"And we…slept together," Sam forced out.

Dean stared at him for a while. "You wanna run that by me again?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I know you don't approve—"

"No shit, I don't approve!" yelled Dean, pushing himself away from the car and pacing back and forth in front of Sam. He turned back to Sam. "She screwed you and got you to drink her blood? Why would you even think you needed to do that?"

Sam avoided his eyes, obviously struggling with his answer. "There's, uh…there's something I never told you…about Cold Oak. When Yellow-Eyes came to me in my dream…he showed me something."

"Showed you?" asked Dean.

Sam looked back up at him. "Like a memory or something…about the night Mom died." He finished in a near whisper.

"Okay…" said Dean, waiting for the blow.

"The demon didn't come to kill Mom…He came for me."

"Came for you, how?"

"He stood over my crib and…" Sam looked Dean straight in the eyes, "bled into my mouth."

Dean stared at him in shock.

"That's why we're connected to him, that's how we got out psychic abilities," Sam told him.

Dean frowned, unable to figure out why Sam was coming clean. "Why are you telling me this all of a sudden? I mean, I didn't stumble onto any of these secrets, so why the non-silent treatment?"

Sam hesitated, looking up at Dean in what looked like concern. "What was hell like?"

Dean stared at him before rolling his eyes. "You gotta be kidding me." He turned away from him and started his pacing again. "You think a little secret spilling from you is gonna make me open up?"

"Dean, angels pulled you from hell with some kind of holy mission, you have some new super hunter powers, the demons are getting more and more restless like something's coming…It's kind of a brave new world out here. There can't be anymore secrets or half-truths here, Dean."

Dean paused in his steps, hands on his hips and still not looking at Sam.

"I get this isn't easy," Sam said bracingly. "And heaven knows I would rather not hear about what happened to you down there…but I'm your brother. You don't have to shoulder this on your own. Let me help carry the load."

They stood in silence for a while, Sam waiting and Dean contemplating what his brother had offered. Dean did not want to burden Sam with what he had suffered for him in hell. On the other hand, Sam had just confessed every secret he had to Dean, wanting to come clean and start afresh.

Dean let out a deep breath. "It wasn't four months, you know."

"What?" asked Sam.

Dean slowly walked back over to the car, leaning on the fender next to him. "It was four months up here, but down there…I don't know. Time's different. It was more like forty years."

"My God…" breathed Sam.

"They, uh…they sliced and carved and tore at me in ways that you…" Dean paused, his throat threatening to close up. "Until there was nothing left. And then, suddenly…I would be whole again…like magic…just so they could start in all over. And this demon Alistair…at the end of every day…every one… he would come over, and he would make me an offer: to take me off the rack…if I put souls on…if I started the torture. And every day, I told him to stick it where the sun shines."

Dean's cocky smirk trembled as his eyes started to fill a little with tears. "For thirty years, I told him. But then I couldn't do it anymore, Sammy. I couldn't…And I got off that rack. God help me, I got right off it, and I started ripping them apart! I lost count of how many souls."

Tears began to fall from Dean's eyes.

"The things that I did to them," mumbled Dean.

There was uncomfortable silence for a moment.

"Dean…" Sam cleared his throat. "Dean, look, you held out for thirty years. That's longer than anyone would have."

Dean shook his head as the tears fell in earnest. "How I feel…this…inside me…I wish I couldn't feel anything, Sammy…I wish I couldn't feel a damn thing."

Sam stared at Dean as his brother tried to pull himself back together, finally understanding why Dean was having such a hard time with accepting an angel wanting to save him. With what he had done in hell, he couldn't understand why anything that good would do anything for him.

They sat in silence for a long time until Dean wiped the last of his tears away, got up and headed for the driver's seat. Sam climbed into the passenger seat as Dean started the car up and drove in the direction Bobby had gone. Dean knew that he had just spilled enormous guilt onto Sam, but it actually made him feel slightly better. It felt like a fresh start; something to go forward from.

Now, the only thing to focus on was Dean's little super predicament.

Hopefully, that's the end of copying straight from the episode...