Devils Tower stood vigil over the plains of Wyoming, the day so clear and crisp that one's breath lingered upon the chilled air in a fog with each exhale. Silence seemed the music of the evening, which made it all the more eerie to Sam Winchester as he approached the great plateau alone. Pulling his knit cap down a bit tighter over his head, he took a deep and cleansing breath as he paused to look up to the monument … and its peak. Something wasn't right.
A bright stream of white light shot from sky to pillar like a signal beam, piercing the atmosphere for only a few seconds, leaving Sam stunned and in a somewhat awed silence. A thin trail of white smoke began to slowly rise from atop the plateau. Instantly, Sam felt compelled to rush toward the natural tower, but slowed as he approached two trees growing closely together … two trees that would otherwise seem completely normal were it not for the fact that he noticed something carved upon the trunk of one. It was small, but the closer the hunter drew to the trees, the more he recognized the symbols as Enochian in nature.
"Huh," he exhaled with curiosity as he reached out to touch it … and noticed an identical sigil on the tree growing next to it. Overhead, he saw more sigils carved in the branches. Was this a door? A portal? He wasn't sure, but he'd had his fair share of invisible doorways in the past. Sam took several steps back and glanced around, locating a small rock. With a light shrug, he tossed the stone between the trunks, observing as it vanished. He tossed a second rock through the trees, and then a third for good measure. Cautious, he inched toward the trees, drew a deep breath and stepped through …
… to find himself standing atop the Devils Tower, open air surrounding him as he balanced himself precariously among the beige igneous rock. "Whoa …" he breathed as he glanced behind himself to see nothing, hundreds of feet in the air … but upon closer examination of the rock beneath his feet, he noticed the small crater ahead of him, white smoke rising from its depths. Careful steps led him closer, curiously looking within the hole to discover … an egg?
It looked the shape of an egg at least, approximately the size of his fist, and yet … its shell was a reflection of the night sky, darkness and stars, galaxies and nebulas … and Sam was captivated by its beauty. Kneeling at the crater, he reached forward to gingerly touch the surface of the egg … and on contact, heard a soft ringing, a harmonious five notes that sounded peaceful … at least to him … but as he gently lifted it within his palms, he could hear a whispering … multiple voices whispering, but he couldn't make out what they were saying …
He almost didn't notice the growing sounds of snarling coming from the ground hundreds of feet below, slowly rising toward the peak … but the volume grew, and grew … and Sam noticed the daylight was dimming. Upon glancing up, he found himself surrounded by shadows, swirling clouds of darkness that continued to lift to the sky and envelop the pillar. His eyes widened as he stood quickly, cradling the egg protectively to himself.
But within his hands, he felt the egg tremble, heard the shell crack and jerked his gaze away from the shadows and to his cargo … to witness a split in its surface as a bright, white light pierced through the shell. Another tremble, another crack as the darkness grew ever closer … the glow brightened, the ringing intensified as he was quickly enveloped by the light. Otherworldly screams of agony, hisses and cries surrounded him as he could not only hear but practically feel the shadows dying around him …
Sam Winchester woke with a start, sitting upright in his bed with a sharp inhale, alarm tracing his features as he waited for the pounding of his heart to slow. Rubbing his face, he took a moment to collect himself. He was in his room in the bunker, safe and sound, and it had all just been a dream. But upon lowering his hands and allowing his eyes to adjust to the golden light of his bedside lamp, he noticed the figure sitting silently, cross-legged, at the foot of his bed. Startled, he jerked his head toward his company, staring at Selaphiel with wide eyes.
"Sel?" he greeted as he briefly shifted his gaze to the clock, noting the time of 3:52 A.M. in red glowing numbers. "... were you watching me sleep?" he asked hesitantly as he returned his attention to her.
"I ran out of yarn," was her quiet and simple reply.
Sam stared at her for a moment, parted his lips as though about to speak, but then just shook his head with a slight smirk. "Hey. Uhm …" he began, shifting himself into a more comfortable position as he rested his back against the headboard. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"
"Ask me anything," she assured gently.
"Dream interpretations are kind of your thing, right?" he asked, receiving a subtle nod as the angel's response. "Can you tell me what it means to dream about an egg covered in stars?"
"One should not tell dreams before breakfast," she replied quietly.
His brows knit in confusion. "Says who?"
"The Druids."
He paused a moment, narrowing his eyes curiously. "Since when do archangels care about the Druid superstitions?"
"I like Druids," was her soft reply amid a perplexed expression. "And if one still remembers the dream following his first meal, then it is a dream meant to be remembered and therefore should be discussed."
Again, silence fell between them as Sam could not help but give her a curious and incredulous look. His reaction was not one specifically due to just how unexpected and unpredictable his celestial companion was, but also due to the fact that something about what she had said sounded all too familiar to him. "I read that," he started, pushing himself out of bed to stand. "Like, I read that verbatim. In one of the journals." Who was it? It was right on the tip of his mind. "Father Thompson." He crossed the room, pausing at the door to look at her. "Max Thompson. He was a priest, a Man of Letters, the same man who wrote a modified exorcism. The one meant to cure demons … to save them."
A gentle expression faded upon Selaphiel's features, pensive and sorrowful. "Demons were once human."
"Exactly," he agreed … but then he paused, narrowing his eyes in suspicion as he took a step toward her, studying the angel closely. "That was you. Wasn't it. You're the one who taught him how to cure a demon … didn't you …" It was more of a statement than a question.
But it was a comment upon which Selaphiel remained mute, shifting her gaze downward as the hunter moved to sit at her side on the edge of the bed. "Look, Sel … you don't have to be humble about this. You can tell me the truth. Did you teach Father Thompson that exorcism?"
Reluctant, she did not look to Sam as her head bowed with a small nod. His eyes widened as he stood again, turning away with a sharp breath. He swallowed as he nodded to himself, unable to find the words as he paced at the foot of the bed. "I … you … it's because of you that I was able to cure Dean …" he murmured as his mind processed this realization, chuckling to himself as he fought the tears tracing his eyes. "You've … have you been involved with the Men of Letters all this time?" he asked, daring to glance at the quiet archangel.
She said nothing, but her head again lowered in a silent confirmation. Sam choked on a chuckle as he shook his head. "I don't understand. Cas said you'd never taken a human vessel before. How did you manage to teach the Men of Letters anything?"
"Some humans … have the ability to observe us in our true forms," she explained gently, keeping her gaze downcast. "Joan of Arc. Francis of Assisi. Father Thompson."
"Sel." She finally shifted her eyes from the bed to Sam as he stopped pacing and continued. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"
"Ask me anything," she calmly acknowledged.
Hesitant, he sat at her side once more, watching as she tilted her head curiously at him; the more he was around her, the less uncomfortable her infinite stare felt. "While I was going through the Trials …" he started carefully, "... after the second trial, when I … when I was resonating with the Word of God … and I heard … and remembered things …" He drew a breath, gathering his thoughts for a beat before coming to the conclusion. "That was you … wasn't it? That sound I heard. What I … felt."
She offered a slow nod.
A monosyllabic laugh resonated in his throat. "And when I took Confession … that was you listening, wasn't it?"
Again, she nodded.
"So you …" he shook his head again, standing once more as he felt compelled to pace. "You know what I said … in there. About letting Dean down? You heard all of that? Every … prayer, every … confession I've ever made." He pressed his lips together, feeling the sting of the tears, threatening to fall … but he refused to let them, and instead inhaled deeply. "Gatekeeper to the Garden of Secrets, just like he said." He swallowed and turned to look to the angel again. "You know … you remind me of him. Of Dean."
Her lashes fluttered a bit with her curious glance.
"I mean, Cas said you'd always been there for him, y'know, despite how many times he screwed up … you were still there. Dean's done the same for me. I dunno. Maybe it's a protective older brother thing? Bailing out the mess of a little brother and forgiving him no matter what?"
Selaphiel did not speak, but the distance in her gaze seemed to offer volumes in response.
A thoughtful smile melted onto Sam's face. "I get why Cas looks up to you. Been there."
The edges of her mouth curled upwards in a subtle, timid smile as her eyes lowered to the bed once more.
"You know what?" he said with a different tone, one that translated as having the intent to change the subject. "I think we've been cooped up in this bunker for too long," he added as he crossed the room to his duffle bag, beginning to pack. "Let's go to Topeka."
"Topeka?" Selaphiel echoed curiously as she gave the hunter a side glance.
"Yep. Because you need yarn."
"... at four in the morning …?" she added with slight confusion.
"Yeah, well … it's Sunday."
The angel blinked rapidly as her brow furrowed.
He looked over his shoulder back at her, urging, "If we leave now, we can make morning service at Grace Cathedral."
Immediately, Selaphiel seemed interested as she moved to stand with a lightened expression. "You are taking me to church?"
Sam laughed. "Yeah. I hear they have a good choir," he said with a wink.
…
…
…
The road sign read 'Welcome to Oregon', illuminated briefly by the headlights of the Impala; the road was slick from the drizzle that continued to fall, and though the windshield wipers moved out of sync with the beat of Led Zeppelin's "Misty Mountain Hop" on the radio, Dean didn't seem to notice … he didn't notice because the silence between him and the angel riding shotgun was starting to make him uneasy. Castiel hadn't been one for conversation their entire trip, opting instead to simply watch the scenery as they drove by.
Unable to take it anymore, he switched off the radio and glanced toward his friend. "So … are we gonna talk about this?"
"Talk about what?" the angel replied without looking away from the window.
"Look, Cas, I get whole idea of, y'know, preferring to go the slow route with me so you don't zap yourself into a trap, and I'm thankful for the company, really I am, but you? Sitting all quiet like that? It's crazy. I mean, yeah, you're not usually the chatty type, but I can tell somethin's eatin' at ya, and if you need to talk about it? Well … I'm a captive audience, obviously."
Castiel just pressed his lips together and continued to watch the trees as they passed.
"I'm guessin' this has something to do with Big Bro Sel," Dean said after a beat.
"It feels … cold …" the angel quietly remarked.
"What?"
"Empty. And cold," Castiel added; he gave his friend a quick glance before returning his attention to the window.
"Care to elaborate?" the hunter asked with a light shrug.
"It's just … strange," he explained. "Selaphiel has been there my entire existence. And now he's suddenly …" He didn't finish his thought, voice fading with a light shake of his head.
Thoughtfulness filled Dean's gaze as he looked briefly to his friend then to the road again. "Yeah, I get it," he assured with a gentle understanding behind his gruff tone. "You get so used to having someone around, especially someone you care about, and suddenly they're not there anymore. It's kinda like … death."
"Something like that, I suppose," Castiel agreed.
"But you're lucky. I mean, sure, it's a crappy situation, but Sel's still here. He's still with us, he's just … trapped, y'know? Phenomenal cosmic powers, itty bitty living space."
The angel shook his head and watched the road. "That … 'itty bitty living space' is suffocating him to death," he admitted worriedly.
Dean gave him a side glance, allowing a beat of quiet to pass between them. "Hey," he started in an attempt to comfort his friend. "He's gonna be okay, Cas. We're gonna find a way to get him out of there, and then he can go back to being that altruist workaholic of a communications officer he's always been."
Castiel pressed his lips together and sighed heavily.
"Hey … Cas. Can I ask you something?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember … after you played God and you didn't want anything to do with Heaven, so you turned off your Angel Radio?"
Castiel's gaze shifted nervously. "Yes."
"Well, if Sel is the Angel Radio … how did that work? Did you just … tell him to go away?"
"No … not exactly," the angel confessed.
"Well … spill, 'cuz I'm really curious and we've got five more hours 'til we reach Palouse Falls, so … I'm all ears."
The hesitation was visible on Castiel's face, audible within his voice. "He never completely went away, just … made it quiet for a while. He … understood how I felt and respected my wishes to be left alone … well … at least he gave me some semblance of feeling like I had space anyway."
"So it wasn't actually turned off, just muted?"
A small and pensive smile faded onto the angel's lips. "Selaphiel was always listening. Watching over me."
"But not interfering," the hunter surmised.
"Not usually, no. Though … he always provided assistance when I asked. I just … don't ask him very often."
"Why not?" Dean asked curiously with a quick glance to his friend. "I mean, I can think of at least half a dozen times when we could have really used someone with his kinda mojo."
"He's very busy," Castiel protested quickly.
"Don't give me that crap, Cas. Busy or not busy, he still could have pitched in."
"Dean," the angel began sternly. "When the Angels were in the midst of a Civil War, the Universe ending, being locked out of of Heaven … someone had to keep watch over everything else amid the chaos. If we thought it was bad while those things were going on, I shudder to think of how much worse it would have been had he stepped away from his duties for even a moment."
The hunter was silent as the realization set in. "Kinda like that whole … 'needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few' thing, huh?"
"Yes. Exactly."
"Putting aside your own family for the sake of the Universe? Okay, yeah, I get it." Dean sighed. "I mean, I don't like it, but I get it. And … I respect it … I guess."
The angel nodded and returned to watching the scenery.
"So he always helps you when you ask, huh?" Dean clarified.
"Yes."
"Have you asked for his help at all since the whole … Apocalypse thing?"
"Yes."
The hunter blinked and glanced to his friend. "Really? Uh … anything to do with, y'know, stuff involving us?"
Again, Castiel's tone was hesitant as his gaze shifted nervously. "A few."
"Yeah? Like?" When the angel didn't offer an immediate response, Dean urged. "Cas."
Castiel swallowed and took a breath. "When I took you and Sam to the past, to protect your mother and father from Ana … I was … completely drained. I asked Selaphiel to return me to the present."
"That was him?"
"Yes …"
"Awesome. What else?"
"He assisted in harrowing Hell to raise both you and Sam from perdition."
Dean coughed. "Wait. What?"
Castiel sighed heavily. "He is always so hesitant to return to Hell. It was an arrangement he had with Lucifer … to … mute the prayers of those in Hell." He shook his head sadly, gaze distant. "Selaphiel cannot handle it. He does not speak of it, but he feels at least partially responsible for the creation of demons, that he ignores the cries for help because he cannot. He told me once, long ago, that it is what causes him the most pain … hearing those desperate prayers for liberation to which he cannot abide. It is agonizing … and I hate asking it of him."
"He … he can hear all of that?" Dean asked uneasily, feeling a sharp twinge of sympathy for the archangel at that moment.
"He has to … tune it out, as you say, but yes. He is present in Hell. He is how we knew where to find you."
The hunter's expression softened with understanding. "That explains a lot."
"What do you mean?" Castiel asked as he looked to his friend.
"Oh, nothing, just … weird vibes," he replied with a light shrug, shifting his gaze briefly. "Anything else?"
The angel's gaze became distant for a moment, recalling his confrontation with Metatron, still able to hear the scribe's voice in his memory ...
"You know why you could never pull it together, Castiel?" Metatron had gloated. "Why you're sitting here while your grace slowly burning away and your reputation long extinguished? No curiosity. You didn't read enough. You never learned how to tell a good story."
"... but you did." Castiel remembered turning to the ever-present radio behind him, switched on and broadcasting to all angels, every one of his brethren listening to every word ...
His mind shifted back to the present, to the Impala traveling along the damp Oregon road. Had there been another instance of Selaphiel helping him? Of course, but ...
"It is not my place to divulge my brother's life story and secrets, Dean."
"Fair enough," he said and cleared his throat, becoming lost in thought for a moment … but then his brows drew together as something occurred to him. "Hey … Cas? When we were in Purgatory … I prayed to you. You said you knew."
"Yes."
"Could you … actually hear me, or was that just an assumption?"
"I heard you," the angel answered with a nod.
"Cas."
Castiel turned his attention to Dean directly.
"If Sel was in Hell, was he in Purgatory, too?"
"Yes," the angel confirmed. "His presence extends into many realms."
"So he was in Purgatory. The whole time?"
"Some of him, yes."
"He could have helped you out of there at any time-"
"I didn't want to leave, remember?"
Dean nodded, abiding with that answer, however … "He didn't help Naomi get you out, did he …" he added in more of a statement than a question.
"No, he did not assist the others in retrieving me from Purgatory."
"Because you didn't want to be saved."
Castiel nodded.
"He respected your wishes," Dean realized with a small smile, "no matter the protests of others."
"He is a very understanding brother."
"Yeah …" the hunter sighed, memories flooding his mind for a mile or two as they rode in silence, and then … he made a sudden realization. "He was in Purgatory."
"Yes, Dean. We established that."
"No, Cas … your brother was able to go into Purgatory." His eyes widened with his thought process. "It took you and Crowley how long to open that portal, and Sel already had a hand in there?"
Castiel nervously rolled his shoulders with a shrug as he attempted to focus on the ever-passing scenery.
"Can any of your other brothers do that?" Dean asked. "Just cross the lines and be in both places at once?"
"No. Not to my knowledge."
"Cas … maybe trapping him in that vessel isn't about killing him and taking out Angel Radio. What if whoever did this is actually planning on using him to access Purgatory? And Hell? And whatever other realms he's tapped into? I mean, if your brother's got one foot in our world, another in Heaven, another in hell, another in Purgatory-"
"Selaphiel's true form does not have feet-"
"Beside the point, Cas. What I'm saying is that he's got simultaneous access to all these other places. Dude's a friggin' multi-pass! I mean, how many other people have that kind of power?"
"... very few."
"That much power and Sel doesn't even think about abusing it? Not even once?"
"Humility, Dean."
"Good, because can you imagine what kind of damage Raphael or Metatron could have done if they'd found out a way to harness that?"
{{ To be continued in Chapter 10: You Can Make It to the Sunrise }}