The Whip and Rein of Pride
And the Burden of Responsibility
"But once you take it, what will happen to u_" the boy whispered back, frantically.
Sam stood by the base of Mount Moriah, stone tablet out of his possession, and mentally completed the sentence.
But once you take it, what will happen to us?
His head drooped as the answer came to him. I just trampled underfoot an entire civilization's belief system in a single day, he realized.
Even if they believed what he had said, about being sent by the Great Mother, when the boy reported his mystical disappearance… even then he would have torn the foundation upon which they'd built their society, right out from under their feet. They had believed that they were the guardians of the world, keeping the balance by making sacrifices and protecting the Word from outsiders. Now that he'd taken that role away from them…
Would they be able to adapt?
He remembered the words of the girl, the one who had accused him of being the long-dead Columbus. Come to kill the Mamas, she said. Chaos, she said. And isn't that exactly what he had done? Was that not exactly what was going to happen when their civilization collapsed, because of him?
I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry, he whispered. Dean wouldn't have done this. Saving the world or no, he wouldn't have caused anyone innocent to die, even if it would save more lives later. He would have looked for a different way, and would've fought anyone who told him he couldn't find one. Why couldn't Sam do the same? Why didn't he?
Please, he prayed, his voice breaking. I need my brother. Even if he's safe… I… I can't do this. Please…
He waited, but this time no answer came. Whatever God was doing, he was not listening to the pleas of his guilt-ridden prophet. So it was that Sam stumbled onwards up the mountain, vowing to himself to never make the mistake of asking for the mercy of anyone ever again. Vowing to never allow another innocent to die, regardless of the consequences. He couldn't ask for help anymore, and he couldn't afford to make mistakes.
He was well and truly on his own.
OO
Castiel was beginning to understand Dean's fear of flight, which had before always seemed incomprehensible. As it turned out, the difference between flying and being flown was astronomical, and it all had to do with control.
Clutching the feet of the eagle in a white-knuckled grip, Castiel decided he much preferred to be the one doing the flying.
The great eagle tore upwards into the sky, gaining altitude at a rate likely matching that of a rocket launcher. The air resistance snapped Castiel's head downwards, so although his eyes smarted, he was able to watch the corpse of the serpent on the ground below as it shrunk and disappeared, all in a moment. The thought of it brought another hysterical laugh bubbling to Castiel's lips. He's seen Dean triumph over stacked odds before, been personal witness to it more times than he cared to count. But killing the Serpent was supposed to be literally impossible, and Dean had managed it with no clever plan or quick thinking on his part… He had just gotten angry and done the stupidest thing he could possibly have done, and succeeded. It was absurd.
Castiel couldn't wrap his mind around it. Every rule that governed his universe was systematically violated, time and time and time again, by the same single person…
Then his mind shuddered to a halt.
OO
Anyone knowing Crowley is aware of his infamous attraction to places of wealth and corruption. Sam was nonetheless surprised to find him within The Church of the Holy Sepulcher, muttering the Lord's Prayer while surreptitiously pocketing alms.
…Lead them into temptation, and deliver them to evil…
Not that he was saying it correctly.
"Crowley," Sam said, without inflection. The moment his eyes alighted on the demon, an idea had been born, and that idea required him to make a dangerous power play. "This is hardly your usual hideout. I see the irony though… seeking shelter in a church building."
OO
Castiel was in a delirium when they touched down, eyes shut, screaming something about fire, and light, and burning. Dean was in somewhat of a delirium, too. We'regonnadie, he thought, and he tried shaking Castiel's arm, to snap him out of… whatever it was he was going through. It didn't work.
The eagle ducked its head, turning to the side so that one huge yellow orb could look upon the hunter. Dean began to hear a ringing in his ears, which grew progressively louder, until he was writhing on the ground, his head throbbing. Gradually the ringing settled into words, spoken as if directly into his mind.
I am acuila, it said.
Dean didn't reply. Multicolored spots were gathering along the edges of his vision.
I took the sleeping man and bore him that he might wake to see his hope ahead. To you are given the keys to the Gate. To him, the keys to Paradise. If he falters, you must urge him, but never carry him where he can walk himself. Do not look back, or you will find yourself again at the beginning.
The raptor's eye turned away then, and it advanced deliberately toward where Castiel lay prone on the rock, still muttering about fire. With its talons, it carved seven Ps into his forehead, and with each letter, the man seemed to quiet. By some miracle, the wounds didn't bleed, but instantaneously scabbed over and became scars. When the eagle had completed its work, it again took flight, vanishing from vision just as suddenly as it had arrived earlier.
Dean was too weak to protest. With great effort, he lifted his arm, finding enclosed in his fist two keys; one gold, and the other silver. After forcing himself into a kneeling position, he could see where they went to; a great metal gate lay ahead, with three multi-colored step leading to it. This is too weird, he thought. Even for me, this is way, way too weird. Freaking talking animals from Narnia… So weird…
"Cas," he rasped, crawling over to the angel and shaking him slightly. "You've got to get up, man. There's, like, this bird named Lucia who wants me to take you outta here, I think. C'mon."
Castiel's eyes blinked open slowly, his face contorting as an unhappy child's does when woken at an ungodly hour. "There was a fire," he said. "We flew into a fire."
"Nightmare, Cas. We all have 'em."
"I don't…"
OO
Crowley's spine stiffened when Sam spoke, but when he turned to face him, it was with his trademark snarky grin.
"Well, look who's out of the States," Crowley said, voice exuding goodwill. A perceptive ear might detect the barbs underlying his words, but Sam felt rather unconcerned at the moment. "Come looking for a prophet?"
"Not a prophet. Something else. I need to get my brother out of Purgatory, and I know you know how to do it."
Crowley's smile froze, and he cocked his head, giving Sam a look as if to say Are you completely daft? "Sorry, no can do, moose. Assuming I do have the foggiest, there's not a thing in the world you could offer me in return."
A slow smile worked its way onto Sam's face. He had him. "You'd be surprised. How about a deal? Information for information."
"You're proposing a deal? To me? That's ambitious, even for you."
OO
The Gate, a single opening in an encircling rampart, had adopted all the winsome qualities a bottle of ordinary water does to a man who has spent a week in the desert. Castiel was able to walk most of the way to it, stumbling only once, just before he reached the third step, which appeared to be made of scarlet porphyry. Dean had managed to catch him before he could dash his head against the lowermost step and had carried him, not in a princess carry, thankyouverymuch, over the third and final step to the Gate entrance. He set him down there, and turned to the locks of the gate. It was easy to see which key corresponded to which lock, the only thing was…
"These are useless," he sighed, tossing the keys away. "The first lock's rusted through, and the other one's broken. If we're gonna get outta here, we're gonna have to crawl through that opening."
He nodded over to where the Gate had been shoved open at the bottom, just wide enough to admit a full grown man, if he lay flat on his back and slid inside. It looked like a struggle, in any case. The monsters that did it must have been desperate.
OO
Crowley accepted Sam's proposal, as Sam knew he would. He could see the King of Hell squirming as he did so, every instinct telling him that it wasn't a good idea, but his pride prevented him from backing down.
"I know you're hiding from something, Crowley, and I know what it is. God seems to have taken a renewed interest in the planet, and that spells disaster for you. During his absence all sorts of vermin have infested his house, and now that he's back… well, what are the chances that he's not going to call the exterminator? Castiel might have put you on a leash, but it's annihilation that you're facing now. The only reason you haven't been killed yet is because he hasn't noticed you."
Crowley's dark eyes had narrowed to glittering slits as Sam spoke. "I'm not as powerless as all that," he snarled. "I can still call down an army, and I can still set them on you. What's your point?"
"You don't want to know how I know that? After God set Kevin free, he came to me. Called me as a prophet, actually, which means, as I'm sure you know, a direct link to the Man Upstairs. I could snap my fingers and lead him directly to you. Now, the information I want from you is, what prevents me?"
Crowley's lips had thinned, his jaw ticked with barely concealed fury. He made it a habit to never underestimate the Winchesters, but the feeling of being beaten at his own game… it incensed him. Sam bloody Winchester may have succeeded in winning this battle, but he had made himself into Crowley's new number one enemy, and that would bloody well come back to bite him.
"There's one spell that should bring your dear brother back…"
OO
Even more difficult than wriggling under the Gate was navigating the inky-black passageway that lay beyond. It pitched and rolled, twisted and dropped in ways that Dean felt sick just thinking about. His head had hit rock enough times for him to be reasonably certain that he'd sustained permanent damage, and, judging from Castiel's grunts behind him, the angel was faring no better.
"Never thought I'd be saying this, but I really wish you could fly us out of here," he said sadly, rubbing his arm. Castiel just oofed, as his face collided with another outcropping of rock.
When they finally emerged the torturous needle's eye tunnel, they had lost a good deal of strength, and had accumulated enough bruises to look like they'd just participated in a barroom brawl. With trolls.
"I don't understand," Castiel said. "The eagle spoke to you?"
"Thought at me, more like," Dean said, shrugging. "I don't get it either, but she didn't seem to want to hurt us, though she did scratch you up a bit."
Castiel traced the letters on his forehead thoughtfully. "Did she say anything important?"
"Not much I could understand. She said not to look back, and… well, I don't know. She said a bit about keys." He didn't tell Castiel that the great bird had told him he must help him, because that seemed like it would be awkward. Too awkward.
Castiel nodded, and took a moment to scan their surroundings. They seemed to be on a cornice, which curled around the mountain at a uniform length. To the left he could see the remains of what must have been three exquisitely carved bas reliefs, and to the right an assortment of large boulders. After noting that the boulders weren't stacked high enough to allow them to scale the cliff face, Castiel turned his attention to a crude drawing immediately in front of him. It was hurriedly done, but it appeared to depict a man carrying one of the boulders, and crawling around the side of the mountain. The drawing caught Dean's attention as well.
"I think there's writing underneath," he said, taking a few steps towards it to see more clearly. "The higher a soul raises itself in pride, the more it is crushed to the earth. Only when a soul is stooped in humility will a pass appear. Seriously?"
Castiel assumed that the last part hadn't actually been written on the cliff face. "It appears," he said, "That Cato was right. The rules of Purgatory are still in effect. I suppose that this is one of them. In order to open the pass, I must pick up one of the boulders there and walk to it."
Dean didn't ask why Castiel felt he had to be the one do it. He knew he didn't want to hear the answer.
OO
Crowley had left as soon as he was able, which Sam supposed was to be expected. There was no point in hanging around while Sam still had leverage; there was no telling what else he might threaten Crowley into doing, while he had the chance.
Simple magic tends to be the most powerful, Crowley had told him. Blood magic is the simplest of all. All you need is a bit of your blood, a bit of his blood, and a white lily. Set it all on fire, say his name, and presto! You've been reunited. Probably haven't heard of it because of the fatality rates. Use it more than once, you die, try to bring someone back from the dead, you die, but somehow people keep on forgetting that… and of course, it only works on blood relatives, you understand.
Meaning it wouldn't bring back Castiel.
Assembling the ingredients had been easy enough; Dean had never been very successful at pulling the bloodstains out of his clothing, which is why he took to wearing darker colors so quickly. But now that he was ready to do the magic, lighter in his hand, he wavered.
Dean would never forgive him.
He'd promised himself to never allow another innocent to die.
But this was different, wasn't it? Maybe not. But it was easy to make a promise like that when he was emotionally charged. The fact was that he should save the lives that he could, and if someone's doom was inevitable, than he should just save the greater amount of lives. Thinking about it like that, finding the Word at the expense of the Kogi was the right decision. Saving Dean and leaving Castiel would be the right decision. Saving one life is better than condemning two, isn't it? Only… only….
Dean would find a different way.
There was no telling if Crowley wasn't lying about blood magic being the only sure way to rescue someone from Purgatory. Crowley was untrustworthy; Dean kept saying that, but what if he wasn't? And even if he was, who was to say he shouldn't just save Dean now, and they could both find a way to save Castiel together?
Except Dean wouldn't forgive him, not even if he made that decision. He'd want Sam to dismiss the idea of saving him, and him alone. He'd say, correctly, that Sam was making excuses. But I have to do everything that I'm able to bring you back, Sam thought. If I discard this one opportunity and never find another, how will I be able to live with myself?
If I do this and find that I could have done something else, how will I live with myself?
Dean never wins at chess, Sam remembered. He was always so reluctant to sacrifice a piece, that Sam could decimate his entire side, put him in checkmate in a matter of minutes. But is life a chess game?
Sam remembered the virgin. Dean had refused to make that sacrifice, too, and everyone had died. In the town with the witch, he'd saved some lives at the expense of a seal. How many more people wouldn't have died if the Apocalypse had never happened? It was only when he had allowed Sam to jump into the Cage that it had ended, only when he made a sacrifice that his side was able to win.
It was perfectly logical, perfectly reasonable and right to bring his brother back, even if Castiel had to remain in Purgatory forever. It was wrong, but it had to be less wrong than keeping them both in there. And Dean was his brother.
But somehow, Sam still couldn't do it. He threw the lighter away from him unopened, and stalked back to the church to complete the business he'd come there for in the first place. People were attracted to places of sanctity, and The Church of the Holy Sepulcher was a hotbed for Christians. And in all likelihood, taking away the Stone of Anointing wouldn't cause any fatalities.
Unless, of course, they blame it on another religious denomination, like the Muslims…
A sob wrenched itself from Sam's throat involuntarily. I'msorryI'msorryI'msorry….
OO
Dean didn't think that Castiel could do it, but he did. Somehow he managed to maneuver one of the boulders into a secure place on his back, where he held it and his knees didn't buckle under the weight. In a horrible sort of way, it was amazing. Watching him, Dean felt suddenly much too light. Let me help you, he wanted to demand. He didn't. Cas is tough, he reassured himself.
Castiel grit his teeth, nearly bent over double beneath his burden. "Now we walk," he growled.
They walked at an excruciatingly slow pace, every yard or so they passing a carving in the ground. These were worn away almost to nothing, but Dean thought he could make out scenes of people being struck down by God for different prideful acts. He didn't find the carvings very comforting, and he doubted Castiel felt any differently.
Let me help you, he thought. "Why aren't there any monsters here?" he asked.
Castiel tried to keep his voice level, and he mostly succeeded. "I believe the monsters that managed to get past the Gate found ways of getting past these lower levels, as well. It is my guess that they would be contained in the upper levels."
"Upper levels," Dean groaned. He immediately felt guilty about it.
Dean could swear they had circled the cornice at least three times, but they still hadn't seen a pass. Their "hike" was looking more and more like a death march. It was obviously taking all of Castiel's willpower to just put one foot in front of the other, and finally Dean reached the point where he couldn't take it anymore.
"Let me help you," he said, trying not to sound too freaked out. "It'll seem lighter"
"Dean."
"No, seriously. I mean, it's not like I'm not prideful. I brag to Sam all the time about things. I tend to think I'm right about everything, heck, I can be a hypocrite…" Dean realized he was rambling, but he couldn't stop.
"Dean. No. It's fine." Castiel put all the force he could muster into the command, but it came out sounding tired and halfhearted. He couldn't allow Dean to do this for him. They were his mistakes; he had to be the one who paid for them. Not Dean.
"You know, I'm getting sick of all this I-can-do-it-on-my-own-I'm-an-angel-of-the-Lord crap," Dean snapped. "I get it, alright? And it's not true. You are not all powerful so why, dammit, why can't you just let me help you? Do you think I can't? Do you realize that's why we're in this mess in the first place?"
Bile rose in Castiel's throat. I don't need this from you, he thought angrily. "No," he said. "I don't think you can't. I think you shouldn't."
"That," Dean seethed, "Is the stupidest thing I ever heard."
And all in a moment, Castiel saw it. He'd always thought, that if the opportunity presented itself and he could rewind time all the way back to the day when he saw Dean raking leaves in Lisa's backyard, that he would change things, that he would ask Dean for help and never agree to Crowley's deal. But the thing was… he wouldn't. There was nothing that could bring him to take away the one chance at happiness Dean had, and nothing which would convince him he wasn't strong enough to find some other way of defeating Raphael. He would say yes to Crowley… every time…
He wasn't strong enough to do it on his own. He wasn't then, and he wasn't now; he was about to be crushed underneath of the weight of the boulder, he was likely going to break his spine, his neck or some ribs, and he was going to be pinned down for good. And even though Dean never deserved to be dragged back into hunting, even though Dean didn't deserve to share the weight of the rock which seemed to hold all of Castiel's guilt… there was nothing altruistic about killing himself. Nothing at all.
Saying the word was more difficult than he ever imagined it would be. It went against everything in his nature; it was literally painful to speak it. Never admit weakness, he remembered Zechariah saying, and he'd tried…
"I'm going to fall in a moment," Castiel gasped. "If you… want to help carry… please do…"
He didn't know what he expected. Something in him shattered when he said it, but otherwise, nothing happened. No lightning struck him from above. Zechariah didn't appear and cut off his wings. Dean didn't even say a word.
He just ducked down, and helped him carry the rock, relieving him from half, if not more of the weight.
Neither of them saw it, but a few meters ahead, a pass seemed to materialize in the cliff face, at the same time a P vanished from Castiel's forehead.
A/N: Please review. Sam won't smile until you do. Dean and Castiel will never notice the pass until you do. Crowley will never sing "Oh Danny Boy" until you do. For their sakes…