A/N: First off, I have not seen the premiere yet, but I have plans to watch it later today after work. Not that I'm opposed to spoilers in the comments, though some people might be. Anyway, thank you guests Castielle and Loreley for your reviews! Also, just FYI that in this AU, there is no Darkness for removing the Mark to unleash. Now for the final chapter...
Chapter 7
Sam whirled back toward the stairwell when he heard his brother's cry, but before he could run back down to the boiler room, Cas grabbed him by both arms and held him immobilized. He struggled on instinct, desperate to get to Dean, to see what was happening. Light blazed forth from below like a supernova, and Sam had to jerk away from the sweltering heat of it. His breath caught in his throat. No.
Cas's grip slackened, and Sam was able to wrench out of it. As soon as the flare died down, Sam was sprinting into the stairwell, taking nearly three at a time. He barreled into the boiler room, heart jackhammering when he spotted Dean lying prone on the floor.
"Dean!" Sam slid to his knees next to his brother and frantically reached for a pulse. Dean's face was red like he'd been badly sunburned, and his arm was a mess of second and third degree burns. Sam swallowed back a surge of bile. "Cas!"
Of course the angel had been right behind him, and the next instant Cas was crouching down and reaching two fingers to Dean's forehead. Sam had already found a pulse, thank god, but Dean could be in shock from those burns.
Cas's forehead creased with concentration, but slowly Dean's pallor faded to normal, and new skin spread out to cover his arm. An arm completely free of the Mark.
Sam let out a shuddering breath. It had worked. It had actually worked.
Dean moaned, and Sam hauled his brother up into his arms, hugging him fiercely.
"Ungh, S'm?" Dean said, voice muffled against his shoulder.
Sam pulled back. "Yeah. Are you okay?"
"Don't know, am I?" Dean looked down at his arm and simply stared.
Sam couldn't help the half-giddy laugh that emanated from his throat. "Yeah, you're good. The Mark is gone."
Dean lifted bewildered eyes to his, and then slowly smiled as though he couldn't quite believe it. Then his gaze shifted to his left, and something broken entered his expression. "Cas?"
Sam looked over at the angel, who was now kneeling a couple feet away and staring down at a pile of ashes. Orange dust sparkled like micro shards of shattered jewels amidst the charred granules. Sam felt a flicker of guilt at not having even noticed Ryn's absence before. It looked like she had given her last to save Dean, something Sam didn't fully comprehend, but was grateful for nonetheless.
He frowned at the way Cas was transfixed on the ashes, though. "Uh, she'll come back, right?"
Cas didn't say anything for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, there was a ring of grief in his voice. "That amount of energy…I…I don't know."
Dean scooted forward and put a hand on Cas's shoulder. "We can take her ashes back to the bunker. Maybe…maybe she just needs some time."
Sam blinked, flummoxed not only by his brother's suggestion, but the tender sympathy in his tone. Sure, Ryn just saved his life, his soul, but since when did Dean show that kind of gratitude to a supernatural being? Aside from Cas, and there'd been Benny, but Dean hardly knew Ryn.
Cas nodded slowly, his eyes pinched as he looked around the boiler room. "I…I don't have anything to put her in."
"I'll get something," Dean said, and pushed himself to his feet. "Be right back, okay?"
Sam staggered upright and followed his brother upstairs and out toward the Impala. "Dean?"
Dean didn't respond as he popped the trunk and started rifling through stuff.
"Um, there's a fast food bag in the backseat," Sam suggested.
"I'm not putting Ryn in a greasy fast food bag."
Sam's brows rose sharply. "Why not?"
"I just…" Dean braced both hands on the top of the trunk and took a deep breath. "I'm not doing that to Cas."
"What does that have to do with Cas?" Sam was seriously missing something here.
Dean hung his head between his arms. "She cared about him, and I think he cared about her, even though that Naomi bitch apparently wiped his memories of the two of them."
Sam's mouth moved soundlessly as he tried to process all that. "The two of them?" he repeated. "You mean Cas was…with a phoenix?" That was a little beyond his capability of believing.
Dean finally pulled out a wooden box with a sliding slat lid and dumped the special bullets that were inside, heedless of scattering them in the trunk. "Ryn said they were just friends, but the way she talked about Cas…there was more. Shit, Sam, she was willing to die for me, all because Cas asked her to." He slammed the trunk shut.
Sam furrowed his brow. Could that really have been it? He'd been so caught up in the hope of a cure, and then dealing with Cain and worrying over Dean losing himself in that fight…Sam hadn't really considered why Ryn was willing to help them. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth and all that.
"Dean, this isn't your fault."
His brother reached up to run a hand down his face. "I set all this crap in motion, Sam."
"No, Cain's the one who started that spell." And before that it was Crowley, who Sam really wanted to blame for everything. "And come on, we don't even know if she's really dead."
Dean looked up with eyes wavering from grief and the weight of a terrible burden. The Mark itself may have been gone, but Dean would still bear the scars from his time possessing it. "Right," he said gruffly. "Let's go get them and get out of here."
They returned to the boiler room where Sam watched Cas carefully and reverently scoop every last bit of ash into the wooden box Dean held open for him. Sam had a ton of questions, but kept silent. Now wasn't the time or place. Once done, Dean slid the lid closed and handed it to the angel, who gripped it tight to his chest like something to protect.
On their way out, they stopped by the charred stump that had once been Cain's body, the First Blade still sticking out of him, though blackened. Dean's fingers twitched nervously, and he finally reached out to take it. Sam watched, equally on edge, but he knew they couldn't leave a weapon that powerful just lying around. Except that when Dean gripped the handle and yanked the Blade out, it crumbled into dust like chaff on the wind.
The drive back to the bunker was filled with morose silence, dampening the feeling of victory Sam was having over saving Dean. That had been his top priority, as he knew it had been for Cas. But the cost…well, it always came high for them in some way or another, didn't it?
Sam glanced over his shoulder at the quiet angel in the backseat. Cas was still gripping the box close, his gaze aimed out the window, but he didn't really seem to be looking at anything. His face was a mottled mess of bruises and cuts that hadn't healed, and when Sam mentioned it, Cas didn't respond.
It wasn't until they were halfway home that Dean remembered Cas's car back at the Reynolds's farm. The fact that Cas brushed that off with a non-articulate noise made Sam think he should actually be concerned about their friend's state of mind.
When they finally arrived back at the bunker, Cas took Ryn's ashes outside and nestled the box between the roots of an old tree. Sam leaned against the back of the Impala, watching through the open garage door while Dean took their bags inside, until Cas eventually turned to come back in.
Sam cleared his throat. "Is there, uh, anything we can do to, I don't know, help her come back?"
Cas shook his head, glancing back at the tree. "No. It is possible she's too weakened from curing Dean to rise right away. She might just need some time." He fell silent for a moment. "Or she's gone. She might have…might have given the last of her strength to keep Dean alive through the process."
Sam frowned. "Why would she do that? She knew you could bring Dean back if the purification killed him."
Cas looked away, a muscle in his split cheek ticking. "She'd do it to save me," he said, voice cracking.
Sam stiffened, sensing he was on the edge of something here. "Save you from what?" But then his breath caught in his throat as everything suddenly clicked. He'd thought maybe Cas wasn't healing because he was in shock, but what if it was more than that? "Bringing Dean back would've hurt you."
Cas's shoulders sagged with shame and defeat. "My stolen grace is burning out again. I would've had enough to save Dean, but…"
"But not yourself," Sam let out in a hush, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Dean wasn't lurking in the doorway to overhear this. He didn't need more burdens.
Cas shook his head in growing frustration. "I don't know why it's affecting me this way."
Sam felt a pang of grief for his friend. "You cared about her, Cas." More than Sam had realized, but that Dean had guessed.
"How could I?" Cas asked desperately. "I knew her for three days, Sam. She helped me hunt a demon, and then Cain. She stood up to him at that burial site. She agreed to help a complete stranger get rid of the worst curse known to mankind, all because of a past she said we shared. But I don't remember her. Naomi stole those memories. And now I will never know who she was or who I was…" Cas cut himself off as his eyes widened with horror, and he sharply turned away.
Sam's chest constricted. How had he missed all this? He'd been too consumed with worry for Dean, that's what. And he was now wishing his brother was out here after all. Not that Dean was any better at this sort of thing.
Sam moved closer and settled a hand on Cas's shoulder. "First of all, you know who you are. You're Castiel, the angel who stood against Heaven and Hell to defend humanity and free will. You saved the world half a dozen times."
Cas let out a derisive snort, but Sam barreled on.
"And you're our friend, our brother. You want to know why Ryn was willing to sacrifice so much for you? Because the angel she met all those years ago was the same one standing here today—caring, selfless, always trying to do the right thing."
Cas shook his head. "I'm not worth it, Sam."
His fingers clenched around Cas's shoulder. "What are you talking about? Of course you are, Cas. You're worth it to me and Dean, and obviously to Ryn. Don't dishonor her sacrifice by devaluing your life. That's not what she would have wanted."
Cas looked away again. Sam wished he knew how to help, but there just wasn't a way to make this type of pain go away. Sam had driven himself to near insanity with guilt after Dean went to Hell for him. That kind of sacrifice…it was hard for the person making it, but even harder for the one left behind to live with.
Sam gave Cas a light tug. "Come on. Let's get you cleaned up. We'll check on her in the morning."
Cas nodded numbly, and they headed slowly for the balcony entrance. Sam hit the button for the garage doors, casting one last look out at the gloaming twilight before the metal panels slid into place with a clang of finality.
Castiel stood at the edge of the woods, gazing down at the wooden box still set securely at the base of a tree. He'd opened the lid, not wanting Ryn to feel trapped in a coffin when she rose, but he also made sure the box was protected from any wind that might scatter the ashes. There was no sign of resurrection, though.
For three days, Castiel had come out in the morning and the evening and just watched, waited. And each time he finally had to turn away and go back inside felt like he was leaving a piece of himself behind with her. He had to accept it—Ryn was gone.
Sam and Dean looked up from the study tables when he came down the stairs. Castiel hadn't missed the furtive looks they cast each other every day when he came back alone. They were being uncharacteristically patient in all this.
Castiel walked up to the table and shifted in discomfort. "Thank you, for…" He wasn't even sure for what. 'Everything' seemed too small, too trite.
Dean nodded in understanding. "I'm sorry, Cas."
He cleared his throat. "I, uh, have one more favor to ask."
"Anything," Sam said.
Castiel doubted that, but he didn't actually need the Winchesters' help for what he planned. He just…would like their support. "I found a spell to try to get my memories back."
The brothers exchanged another silent look.
"Okay?" Dean prompted.
Castiel tried not to fidget. "I'm not sure if it will work. It was designed to recover memories that were blocked, whether by time or trauma, not ones that were…" He swallowed. "Completely erased. I also don't know how the spell is supposed to function, or for how long, so if I could use one of the bedrooms…?" It would be better to perform the casting somewhere safe and protected, but he could always ward a motel room.
Sam frowned. "Is it dangerous?"
"It will only work on the caster," he assured them.
Dean scowled, pushing himself up out of his chair. "He meant for you."
Castiel opened his mouth, but hesitated. He really didn't know what to expect with this. As he'd said, the spell wasn't meant to retrieve memories wiped by a sadistic angel. But it was the only recourse he had.
"It shouldn't kill me," he said carefully.
Now Sam was up and out of his seat. "What about your fading grace? Will this spell take more out of you, or what if the grace isn't strong enough to handle it?"
Castiel drew his shoulders back. "It's a risk I'm willing to take."
"Well, I'm not," Dean interjected sharply. "Let's look for a way to fix your grace, and then you can do this spell."
Castiel shook his head. "There is no way to fix it, Dean. This grace isn't mine and it's burning out. And I will not murder another of my brethren just to prolong my own life another few months."
"Cas, we're sitting in the mother load of supernatural lore," Sam pressed, gesturing to the library. "There has to be something we can use to help you. Just give us time."
"I don't have time, Sam." Castiel instantly regretted his sharp tone, and gave the brothers an apologetic look. "The grace is already fading. The longer I wait to do this, the more chance it won't work. And I…" He took a deep breath. "I need to do this."
Sam kept looking at him in desperate protest while Dean pushed away from the table and started to pace.
"I'm not asking for your permission," Castiel said, carefully neutral. He was doing this, no matter what they said. "But, I am asking for your support."
Sam dropped his gaze to the floor, but then looked to his brother.
Dean was shaking his head, expression pinched with reluctance and uncertainty. "You want me to just stand back and watch you die?"
Castiel softened his tone. "I'm going to die one way or the other, Dean. Nothing will change that. There is no great evil threatening the world at the moment, and I thought…I might be selfish for once." He flicked a look at Sam, who just gazed back at him sadly.
"It's not selfish, Cas," the younger Winchester said quietly.
Dean ran a hand down his face. "Okay, fine. We do this spell." He jabbed a finger at Castiel. "But I'm not gonna stop looking for a way to fix your grace."
Castiel's mouth quirked upward in a small smile. "I didn't think you would. Thank you, Dean." He nodded to Sam. "Thank you, Sam."
Sam nodded in return. "Okay, tell us what you need for the spell."
Castiel felt a wash of relief and gratitude. He'd been hoping he could do this in the bunker—among family. His thoughts briefly shifted to the box of ashes outside. One way or the other, he would see her again.
The woods were still under the hush that had fallen over it. Somewhere in the distance a falcon let out a piercing cry, a strident, heralding call. Underneath an aged oak, paper thin ivy rustled from a disturbance on the air. A single yellowing leaf detached from the branches above and floated toward the ground where it alighted next to a small wooden box. Something crackled and popped, and a tendril of flame curled up and over the slats. Sunlight lanced through the canopy of green, golden shards striking the ashes within and igniting the glittering dust into pulsing crystals. Bands of fire arched up and out, branching into wings.
A bird screeched.
A/N: To be continued… Tune in Monday for the start of the sequel, which picks up right where this left off. Until next time, have a great weekend!
