"You… you did this…" Dean stared at Crowley in horrified disbelief.
Crowley let out a soft scoffing sound. "What, you didn't actually think it was that poor sap, did you?" he sneered. "I learned the hard way: he can't keep up a decent ruse to save his life. You think he'd actually hold out under this amount of torture if he'd actually had anything to do with it?" He looked over at Cas again as he added with a soft, sly smile, "Got to hand it to you, though, Dean… couldn't have done a better job of it myself."
Dean's head was spinning. He felt sick. He couldn't make sense of it. All the signs, all the lives lost… it had all seemed so real…
"Oh, it was real," Crowley said, and Dean realized that he must have been speaking at least parts of his thoughts aloud. "Very real. King of Hell, remember? Not too difficult to create an earthquake here, a mass suicide there. Especially when you've got an angel or two on the payroll."
Another piece in place, and suddenly Dean's legs were barely holding him up. "Ion," he realized in a choked whisper.
"Yes. He's been very helpful. I must remember to give him a nice bonus."
Dean looked up at Crowley with disgust, hatred overwhelming him at the flippant, casual tone Crowley was using to describe the plan he'd put together. "I'll kill you!" Dean said, his voice low and trembling, but filled with conviction. He intended to do exactly that. Crowley wasn't leaving this room alive.
The demon knife… Sam has the demon knife…
"Sam!" Dean yelled, not taking his eyes off Crowley.
Crowley seemed utterly unmoved, rolling his eyes even as the basement door opened and Sam came rushing down the stairs to stand at Dean's side.
"Crowley?"
Sam frowned, incredulous, before his gaze shifted to the side to take in Cas, who was still lying with his face to the floor, his eyes closed, seemingly either unconscious or too shell-shocked to be even remotely responsive to what was going on around him. Sam's eyes went wide with horror, and then Dean couldn't look at Sam anymore, his face immediately heating with shame, his mouth dry, nausea building in the back of his throat.
"What are you doing here?" Sam demanded of Crowley, but there was a slight falter in his voice that told Dean that he was still looking at Cas.
"Just filling your brother in on the… misinformation under which he was operating," Crowley smirked.
"Cas… Cas didn't do anything," Dean said, the words tasting like ash in his mouth, his voice trembling with rage. "Crowley… he did it all."
"What?" The demon knife was in Sam's hand in an instant, his eyes narrowed, his lips drawn back into a tight line as he advanced on Crowley.
Crowley sighed, and vanished – reappearing an instant later, a foot or so away from where Cas was chained. "Really, boys, you should know better by now," he chided them. He looked down at Cas curiously, his eyes focused on the charred, shredded remains of Cas's once glorious wings. "Never seen angel's wings this close before," he mused, reaching out a cautious hand, a mean little smirk twisting his lips. "Not that there's much left of these…"
"No!" Dean snarled, crossing the room in two swift strides to get between them. "Don't you fucking touch him!"
At the sound of Dean's raised, furious voice, Cas flinched violently, jerking against the chains, as far away from Dean as he could manage – which wasn't far at all, at this point. He was visibly trembling, his eyes closed, his face turned away, as if braced for a blow.
Crowley laughed softly, holding up his hands in a backing-off gesture that was mockingly conciliatory. "Seems I'm not the one he's worried about, am I?" he remarked.
Dean froze, unable to bring himself to look down at the shaking, whimpering angel cowering away from him as if he was the most terrifying thing in the room. He swallowed back the wave of nausea that overwhelmed him, unable to formulate a response to Crowley's taunting words, as he quickly backpedaled away from Cas, desperate to give him some distance – though Cas was clearly unaware of his efforts, and they were far too little, far too late.
"Why?" Sam demanded, his voice seething with venom, his hand flexing around the knife – which was unfortunately worthless if they couldn't get close enough to use it. "Why would you do this?"
Crowley's eyes were dancing with cruel amusement as he shrugged. "Why not?" he countered gleefully. "I've had a score to settle with our dear little Cas for a long while now, and it's not as if the two of you haven't done enough to earn a little payback as well. Three birds… one stone." Crowley gave Dean a wicked grin as he added, "And I didn't even have to do the throwing. And of course, there are added benefits as well. The way I figure… maybe you'll be less likely to interfere with my Hell…" He paused for effect, looking down at Cas with a falsely sympathetic smile. "… if you're too busy dealing with your own."
Then, without another word, Crowley was gone.
And suddenly… Dean couldn't breathe.
Devastation was a crushing weight in his chest, and his knees gave out beneath him, dragging him to the floor under the overwhelming realization of just exactly what it was that he had done.
Sam could hardly comprehend what he was seeing as he took in the room around him. He didn't want to comprehend it. He didn't want to process the congealing blood mingled with ash that littered the floor around the shivering, shattered angel; the mangled wings, blood-soaked and charred with bits of cracked, white bone showing through in places; his brother, kneeling broken on the floor, gasping for breath, eyes wide and shocked as he struggled to come to terms with what they'd just learned. A single thought echoed again and again in Sam's mind, his blood like ice in his veins.
What have we done?
"Cas?" Dean's voice was shaky, bordering on a sob, as he abruptly came out of his shocked stupor, moving forward without rising from the floor, edging closer to Cas on his hands and knees. "Cas, I… I'm…" Sam saw the "sorry" all over Dean's face… saw the realization that he couldn't offer it aloud, couldn't dare, as Dean turned his head away in anguish, closing his eyes against tears that streamed down anyway. Dean looked back up at Cas and moved toward him again, his voice desperate and pleading. "Cas… look at me, man, okay?"
Cas didn't. Instead, he cringed back away from Dean, a choked, terrified sob escaping his lips. "Don't…"
Dean stopped, hiding his face in his hand, utterly grief-stricken in his guilt. Sam swallowed back the nausea in the back of his throat, forced himself to focus on what he needed to do. He stepped forward, placing a cautious hand on Dean's shoulder. Dean didn't look up at him, but he turned his head, resting it against Sam's wrist, and Sam could feel him shaking.
"Just… wait," Sam said softly. "Don't… just wait here."
He squeezed Dean's shoulder reassuringly, before letting go and taking a cautious step toward Cas. He crouched down on the floor when he neared him, speaking in a low, gentle voice.
"Cas?"
Cas froze, flinching a little as he raised his head, harrowed eyes finding Sam's – and the confusion and fear Sam saw there was heartbreaking. His voice was a hoarse whisper, hesitant and hopeful. "S-Sam?"
"Yeah." Sam could barely get the words out. "It – it's over, Cas. I just – I just want to help you, okay? Will you let me do that? Let me – take the chains off, at least? Please?"
Cas struggled to rise on one arm, streaked with blood and grime. "Sam," he sobbed, pitifully reaching toward him before collapsing, too weak to hold himself up.
The first thing Sam felt in response to Cas's reaction was shock. After what they'd done, how could Cas want either of them near him at all? Was he simply that desperate for any kind touch, any help, that he would accept it even from Sam? And in the wake of that thought, came the guilt– the agony of knowing that Dean was watchingthis, watching Sam accepted, forgiven, while he was rejected.
It doesn't matter… not right now. Right now, we've just got to get close enough to help him…
Sam closed his eyes for a moment, regaining control, before he edged closer to Cas, one hand extended.
"It's gonna be all right, Cas," Sam said softly, though it felt like a lie on his lips. "It's okay… just…"
Sam touched the shackle that bound Cas's right wrist, wincing but holding on when Cas instinctively jerked away. He quickly spoke the same Enochian words he'd used to lock it earlier, and the heavy iron fell away. Cas's wrist underneath was red and raw from hours of useless struggling to free himself, and Sam felt tears well up in his eyes as he reached for the other cuff, repeating the procedure.
Sam had just finished when he felt Cas's right hand, weak and halting, barely brushing against his ankle as Cas pushed himself up on arms that shook alarmingly. Instinctively, Sam reached out to catch him before he could collapse, wrapping one arm low around Cas's back, low enough to avoid touching the ravaged wings, and pulling him up a little so that he could support Cas's weight.
"Sam," Cas cried quietly, his voice a breathless sob. "Sam…"
It wasn't fair that Cas should sound so grateful, so nearly worshipful, as if Sam was some savior who'd shown up in the last possible moment, to deliver him from his own personal hell. It wasn't fair, when Dean was breaking apart just a few yards away, and he wouldn't have been able to do this, couldn't have so much as touched Cas's wings – his poor, destroyed, ruined wings – if Sam hadn't told him about the spell and placed the book in his hands.
But it wasn't as if Sam could possibly turn away, when Cas was so desperately pleading, reaching out for some kind of reassurance. Sam glanced back at Dean, hesitating only a moment, before sliding down, his long legs folded under him on the floor as he steadied Cas against his side, and Cas lowered his head to rest against Sam's chest. A distant part of Sam's mind was aware that his clothes were going to be forever stained with the blood and ash from Cas's burnt wings and broken body.
But Dean was already covered in it, Sam thought as a cold ache settled in his chest. It was only right that he should be as well.
"I-I didn't do it," Cas sobbed out, but there was relief behind the anguish and exhaustion in his voice. "Please, I didn't…"
"We know, Cas," Sam said softly, instinctively raising a hand to run gently, carefully through Cas's hair. "We know… it's okay. We're going to get you all taken care of, you're going to be okay…"
"He wouldn't… I tried to… to tell him, but…" Cas's words were breathless, coming faster and faster, a residual note of panic in them. "… but he wouldn't… I… asked for you, but…"
"Sam."
Dean's voice behind him was sharp and commanding, and Cas flinched violently, turning his face to hide it against Sam's shirt and going immediately silent. Sam could feel his entire body shaking, and a chill ran through him with the knowledge that it was nothing more than Dean's voice that had elicited such a reaction. Sam's hand stilled, steadying and he hoped reassuring, behind Cas's head, and he turned to look at Dean with a frown.
"What?"
Dean was standing near the base of the stairs, and there was an urgency on his face, in his voice, despite its trembling, as he stated, "I need to talk to you."
Sam blinked, incredulous, glancing at Cas. "Now?" he questioned.
"Yes, now," Dean replied, not quite meeting Sam's eyes. "Before you say another word. Now."
Sam carefully shrugged out of his top shirt, crumpling it and laying it on the floor before gently taking Cas's arms and pushing him back. Cas let out a heartrending little sound of protest, trying to cling to Sam's arm, but it was pathetically easy for Sam to dislodge him.
"Shh, it's okay," Sam assured him. "Lay back down here for just a minute, okay? I'll be right back. Just – just rest for a minute." He gently guided Cas back down so that his head was resting on Sam's shirt instead of the filthy floor, running a hand through Cas's hair and trying not to cry himself when Cas leaned into the touch. "Just – don't try to move, all right? I'm going to – get some things. Bandages. Water. Medicine."
Cas did not respond, his body suddenly still, and Sam's stomach clenched with alarm.
He can't die… he can't, not without the angel blade, he reminded himself. He's just passed out, maybe… and that's for the best.
Sam rose to his feet and turned toward his brother, who didn't look at him, just started up the stairs ahead of him. Sam followed, silent until he had closed the basement door behind them.
"Dean, what…" His voice trailed off when his eyes met Dean's, and Sam's stomach clenched with alarm when he saw the wild, desperate look in his brother's eyes. "Oh, Dean…" he said, his voice softer, stepping forward and reaching out a hand.
"Don't." Dean's tone was sharp, warning, and he took a step backward, his fist clenched at his side. He quickly averted his eyes, his jaw tight, a slight twitch betraying the difficulty with which he was holding it together at all. His voice wavered dangerously as he continued. "I'm not the one who – first priority is Cas right now, what he needs…"
"Dean." Sam was careful, not sure how to get through to his brother, how not to make him close off completely. "You're right. But… you need to-"
"Who gives a shit what I need?" Dean snapped, and Sam almost flinched away from the venom in Dean's voice, the disgust in his eyes when he looked up at Sam again before turning away in anguish. "After what I did to him…"
"What we did, Dean," Sam corrected, reaching out to put a firm hand on Dean's shoulder and turn his brother back toward him. "We both thought we had to. This is not all on you…"
Dean shrugged Sam's hand off, but remained facing Sam, swallowing hard before looking up to meet Sam's eyes again, his expression hard though his eyes were wet with tears.
"He thinks it is."
Sam's heart sank. "No, he doesn't, Dean. Not really…"
"It's good that he thinks that. He needs to keep thinking it."
Sam blinked, taken aback. He shook his head slightly. "What?"
Dean averted his eyes again, but didn't turn away, his voice as level as he could manage as he explained, "He thinks you didn't know about… what I did. He thinks you had nothing to do with it. And… since he's not going to let me get near him for the foreseeable future…"
"Wait." Sam held up a hand, shaking his head, feeling an uneasy sensation building in the pit of his stomach. His voice was wary, almost warning, when he went on. "Dean… why does he think that?"
Dean still wouldn't look at him, his jaw stubbornly set, his voice low and urgent. "Without his grace it's gonna take him a long time to heal. To let his grace loose, we'd have to break the Jacob's Call bond, and we can't do that any time soon, because as soon as we do, the angels can find him again. And odds are they're not gonna be lining up to help him."
"Shit," Sam whispered, momentarily distracted from his question by the unsettling implications of Dean's words. A vivid image of what he'd just seen in the basement filled his mind – the desecration of something once holy, the broken wreckage of a once fierce, terrifying angel of the Lord – and he thought of what he'd do if anyone hurt his brother like that. Suddenly, he was pretty sure it wouldn't matter how pissed off the other angels were with Cas lately; if the angels found the three of them right now… Cas wouldn't be their target. "They'll be lining up to smite us."
Dean either didn't hear Sam's conclusion, or didn't care. "We've gotta get him to the bunker where he'll be safe."
Sam nodded slowly. "Okay, yeah," he said, blowing out a breath and squaring his shoulders a little. "We'll get him home, and we'll take care of him…"
"No, we won't," Dean cut him off quietly, looking up to meet Sam's eyes, his jaw stubbornly set, though his lips trembled slightly as he drew in a shaky breath. "You will. He's not gonna let me – he's never gonna let me touch him again."
The resignation in Dean's voice, the heavy sorrow in his eyes, told Sam that this wasn't a conclusion that Dean had just reached. Suddenly, it was all painfully clear.
"Dean… did you plan it this way from the start? Did you tell him I had nothing to do with it?"
Dean's silence, the trapped look in his eyes before he quickly averted them, were all the answer Sam needed. A dull ache began to build in Sam's chest as he began to put together just how far his brother had gone to keep Cas's blood from staining anyone's hands but his own.
"You can't protect me from this, Dean, this was both of our decision!"
"I'm not protecting you, Sammy… not this time," Dean cut him off quietly, and Sam was surprised into silence. "We thought the world was at stake. If I had to take him apart to save it… fine. I could do that." Dean's eyes were anguished and brimming with tears when he looked up at Sam and helplessly concluded.
"Someone has to put him back together again."
Sam's heart sank, and he felt sick as it gradually sank in, just exactly what Dean was asking him to do. "Dean… I-I can't…"
"You can't tell him, that's what you can't do," Dean insisted, his voice trembling, urgent. "You can't. He trusts you right now, Sam. He – he let you…" Dean stopped abruptly, looking away, struggling to maintain his composure for a moment before looking up at Sam again, his face tear-streaked but resolute. "If he shuts you out, too, then – then he's got no one. And… and that's what we can't do to him. I can – I can do anything you need me to do to help, but – but you're the one that's gonna have to be – there for him, all right? We can't – we can't let him – go through this alone."
Everything in Sam rejected the idea of letting Dean bear the guilt for this thing that they'd done, together. He thought of the way Cas had clung to him, the relief in his voice when he'd seen Sam there… and he felt sick. But he couldn't think of a valid argument, couldn't think of an alternative.
Cas was not only physically devastated by what he'd endured, but mentally broken as well. Even if they could figure out how to jump-start his grace so he could heal, without exposing him to the other angels, Sam had a feeling that he'd still need a lot of support to deal with the sheer trauma of what he'd been through.
Dean was right.
The kindest thing they could do for Cas right now… was to lie to him.
Dean was studying Sam's face closely, and he seemed to see what he was looking for, because he nodded once, his eyes still wet but his tone calm and even as he placed a hand on Sam's shoulder and turned him back toward the basement door.
"Go stay with Cas. I'll bring you what you need to get him stable enough to travel. Once we get him to the bunker… we can figure out our next move from there."
Sam noted with alarm that Dean's tear-stained face was too calm now, his voice too steady. Somehow, he'd managed to pull his mask back into place. He was not all right – as pretty damn far from it as possible, Sam was certain – but he seemed determined to pretend that he was.
And Sam felt a fresh wave of guilt at the realization that for once, he wanted to let him.
He couldn't let himself worry about Dean right now. It was all he could do to make himself descend those stairs, knowing that he was going to have to face the friend he'd betrayed just as completely as Dean had; only he was going to have to pretend innocence – to look Cas in the eye and reassure him… and all the while, betray him again.