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"Is it getting better, or do you feel the same… We get to carry each other, carry each other." U2, One
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Dawn painted Kansas skies in gold vermillion. Venus as Morningstar compelled Gadreel's attention, stalling the angel at the steps to the bunker door. Not for the first time, Sam wondered privately if his lover's fascination with the vast night sky was a consequence of his eternity of imprisonment. If he wasn't vibrating with urgency to get inside and get their prized text translated, he would have indulged a moment to appreciate the skies above. With reluctance he tugged Gadreel's arm, keeping his hand fisted in Gadreel's jacket as they entered, pushing him against the iron railing, and capturing his surprise parted lips in a firm claiming kiss designed to chase away any bitter memories.
Pulling back, sucking air, Sam prepared to formulate clear thoughts about being filled with thankfulness for freedom and being side by side, without descending into pure sap, however he was stalled by a shout from the war room table below.
"Geez, Sammy, keep it in the bedroom!"
"Dean!" Sam grinned. Positivity sped his descent of the iron staircase. They had looted the document from under Crowley's nose, and although he didn't yet know if it would yield a lead on the Mark, he was buoyed by knowing at least he had a morsel of good news to impart.
His brother, however, did not accompany his teasing shout with a smile. Instead he looked pinched, under stress, strained or maybe restraining anger. Castiel's chair was pulled close, inside Dean's personal space. As Sam watched, Castiel's hand pressed on Dean's shoulder as if he was trying to keep the hunter in his seat. Sam halted his bouncing approach with a quizzical brow furl.
"What happened?" Sam stalled. "I thought the job was cut and dried."
"Gotta call." Dean jerked his head, almost accusingly, towards his cell which sat on the table.
"Yeah?" Sam asked warily, unsure where Dean was going with this, why Castiel's hold continued, or why Dean permitted it.
Dean scrubbed a hand over his face and exchanged a look of understanding with Castiel, who finally removed his touch but then shifted his chair nearer.
"The hunt was…"
"…Enlightening." Castiel finished somberly.
"Yeah, not the word I'da picked, but sure. It was, y'know, vengeful spirit, dumb kids dying gory…" Dean sighed, "Yadda yadda, but the dude's widow… Cas and me, we talked to her… and she had to go through that, y'know, seeing the guy she loved, loves, turning into a monster…"
Sam almost interrupted to mention previous times they'd encountered family of a vengeful spirit. His mind conjured up how they eventually had to destroy Bobby's hip flask for the same reason. From his brother's tone he gathered that this time was different. Had something happened between Dean and Cas?
Dean continued, "All those regrets and I don't know how long before I… so I told Cas, and now I'm telling you, that I can't live with false hopes. I'm not giving up but I'm not chasing any more wild geese, Sam."
"I respect Dean's wishes," Castiel added.
Sam glared at them both. "You're giving up."
"I said I wasn't giving up. Geez, Sammy. I just think we should concentrate on hunting, saving people, rather than running down leads that result in zilch." Dean sighed, "I wanted to have this talk with you when we got back, y'know all reasonable and adult-like. So, we stopped to pick up a six pack of that organic hand-brew with hops harvested by singing virgins that you like, for a post-hunt chill out and air clearing."
"It's craft beer," Sam mumbled under his breath.
"But we get back, and there's no sign of you or him. No note. Nadda." Dean eye-flicked to Gadreel, who had come to stand shoulder to shoulder with Sam. "Then I get a call… from Crowley."
Sam huffed, annoyed that Crowley might have stolen their thunder a bit, leaking the news that he and Gadreel had been in Lucifer's crypt. "Sneaky Asshole."
"You annoyed that he told on you? Or that I know you've been keeping secrets?" Dean snapped. "Digging where you have no business. Poking into the Mark behind my back?"
"I'm not going behind your back." Sam protested, almost getting whiplash from Dean's mood swings.
"No? What do you call it?" Dean hissed.
The Grace Stone vibrated in Sam's jeans pocket as Gadreel bristled and spoke up. "We found and acted upon information that could assist the quest to divest you of Cain's Mark."
Dean harrumphed in disbelief. "Crowley said you two practiced some breaking, entering, and taking from one of his lockups and were looking for The First Blade."
Sam's jaw literally dropped.
"Stop trying to find the Blade," Dean's eyes blazed, "There's a freaking good reason why Crowley's got it hidden from me. I don't care if you've found some sorta Men of Letters hoodoo spell to destroy it. It's too risky… motherfucking dangerous to bring it here… Doesn't your boyfriend remember the last time he, me and it were here?"
"Dean!" Sam beseeched, riled that Dean would mention so flippantly how he slashed Gadreel and had to be restrained from killing him, "Why would I look for the Blade? I don't want that thing anywhere near you!"
"I dunno, Sam. But I know you've been sneaking around looking for a Hail Mary pass on the Mark. I can't do this anymore, do you hear me?" Dean expelled a sigh, shoulders sagging as the rage left him, "Crowley said Cain is on the move. He thought we wanted the full set of Blade and Mark and that I was clued into your plans."
"Listen," Sam plunked down opposite his brother, opening his palms with elbows planted on Greenland and Baffin Island. "Forget about Cain for a minute."
Dean rolled his eyes.
"Show him, Gad," Sam said as he pulled out the next chair for the angel.
Gadreel extracted the scroll, unrolled it, and flattened it down over the map of the mid Atlantic.
"A piece of dirty, what is that, human skin?" Dean scoffed with a disgusted nose wrinkle.
"Calf." Gadreel supplied the origin of the writing template.
Castiel reached forward, pulling the Fabula Cain towards him, reading it upside down with a perplexed head tilt.
"Is this genuine, Brother?"
"I believe so."
"The Phoenician is ancient and I believe small transcription errors have occurred," Castiel tapped a symbol, "Here it says the mouth of beastly goats rather than the jawbone of an ass."
Both angels spurted out loud laughs. Gadreel threw his head back and said something in Enochian which had Castiel displaying all his pearly whites in amusement. Sam watched in fascination as tears of laughter trickled from Gadreel's eyes.
"Don't tell me. Goat humor is funnier in Enochian." Dean huffed affectionately, any lingering tension dissipating with the celestial humor.
"It is." Castiel responded seriously, "Goats are very funny animals."
"Father did enjoy…" Suddenly Gadreel stopped. He gulped and straightened in his chair. Castiel gave him a nod of understanding, while Sam remembered seeing a reference when he was searching for Gadreel about how he had been a favorite of God before the Garden, one of the select few aside from the archangels to be in His presence.
"Right." Sam intervened, "Get this. We've got an account, a real early account of the Mark."
"And?" Dean prompted.
"It's translatable. Gad can translate it."
"I can assist." Castiel volunteered. "Two minds in tandem will result in greater veracity. We can consult on unclear or multiple meanings."
"Alright." Dean conceded, standing up and heading for the kitchen. "Every other road has been a dead end, but seeing as you've already brought this one home, I'll supply fuel and hydration."
"Caffeine." Sam yelled as a request. Having driven through the night, he knew it was a matter of time before his hopeful adrenaline would run low and he would be more likely to head plant and snore at the table than to be able to offer any research assistance.
Sam wished Dean could have more hope, have faith that Sam would find a solution, but he understood that dashed hopes, that constantly hitting brick walls wore Dean down. He had a good feeling about this one. Why would demons have offered it as tribute to Lucifer if it wasn't of some significance? He played with the Grace Stone while he accompanied Gadreel and Castiel to the library, keeping it in his palm so he had to use one hand to produce pencils and paper for the angel translating duo. He doubted it was necessary, but he also pulled down a Phoenician dialect primer from the library shelves. By the time Dean reappeared with breakfast offerings of bacon rolls and coffee, flowery introductory sentences had already been rendered into modern English. Placing the Grace Stone by his mug, Sam craned his neck to read commonly known information about rivalry between Cain and Abel.
When he looked up, Sam saw Castiel's eyes riveted on the pale smooth pink-veined stone.
"Is that what I think it is?" Castiel asked with parted lips.
"Yes, Brother." Gadreel preened. "We discovered it in the crypt and Sam has accepted it from me."
"My felicitations." Castiel nodded towards Sam.
"Whoa!" Dean raised his hand. "What the frigging… I turn my back for like two minutes, and you've got what, some angelic promise ring, huh Sam?"
Sam stifled a laugh. "I guess," he shrugged, "It's a Grace Stone."
Castiel took up the explanation. "When angels walked the Earth, they gave them to their chosen humans. It connected them, allowing Watchers to link with their mates."
"Connected?" Dean asked warily.
Gadreel answered, "Sam and I already share a connection, as he has been my vessel. And he has shared Grace with me. The Stone merely amplifies our link."
Dean squirmed a touch at Gadreel's reminder. He looked even more uncomfortable when Castiel added his two cents.
"As it would be for us, Dean. A stone would simply manifest our bond."
Sam snorted, expecting protests from his brother, but even though Dean reeled a little, his lips quirked as he gave Castiel a shoulder punch.
"We don't need no pinky girly rock, hey Cas?"
"No, Dean, we don't." The angel affirmed, although Sam could did see some sneaky covetous glances towards the Grace Stone over the morning as the translation progressed. Each time Sam caught Cas's eye drifting towards it, he wondered if maybe more than a light bulb moment had happened on the last hunt. If maybe Dean and Cas had finally resolved some of their serious case of unresolved sexual tension. He made a note to corner either the bed headed angel or his obtuse brother and find out if his suspicions were true.
By lunchtime, Dean had three pies in the oven and pressed their Fed suits to within an inch of their lives, all in an effort to avoid the library. Sam had learned the basics of Phoenician and sharpened every pencil to lethal sharpness while stealing looks over Gadreel's shoulder.
"I think it's time to call Dean in," Castiel announced, rolling his shoulders in a very human motion.
The older Winchester must have been hovering out of sight because with alacrity he was planting his butt on the chair next to Castiel, who scooped up their work, holding the A4 pad next to his chest.
"Awh Cas." Dean ribbed.
"No, Dean. If you disappear for the duration, then you must wait to hear the results."
Dean sucked air, "And is there? Results?"
Gadreel nodded.
"A cure?" Dean licked his lower lip.
"Not a cure," Gadreel confessed carefully, "But significant information."
"What the hell does that mean?" Dean glared around.
"Do you think it would work?" Sam blurted, his mind racing ahead based on the gleanings he had peeped at.
"What would work?" Gadreel turned towards him. "You cannot be thinking of placing yourself…"
"Hold up." Dean interjected, "Anyone liked to give me the 411 here?"
"The text is an account of the murder of Abel and the cursing of Cain." Castiel expounded. "It bears much similarity to Genesis, apocrypha, and what we had previously learned."
"But there are differences, yeah?" Sam checked, leaning forward slightly in anticipation.
"This word," Gadreel tapped mid-document.
"The one that got you and Cas raising your voices in Enochian." Sam supplied for Dean's benefit.
"It means that Lucifer gave Cain the Mark." Castiel said.
"But," Gadreel added rapidly, "The placement of the symbol suggests 'to give' as in 'to pass' or 'to transfer'."
"Huh?" Dean mimicked Sam's forward posture over the table. "Is this a case of Lost in Translation, dudes?"
"No," Cas stated, "Because once Gadreel and I moved on to the next section, we found this… Cain was cursed to wander without hope of eternal rest, and Lucifer bore the Mark no more."
"You mean Luci was the original bearer of the tat?" Dean flicked his arm at them.
"Not in a corporeal way." Gadreel considered. "It would have marked his wavelength, hidden in his vastness. I do not know how he came by it, because I am sure when we were young he bore no such blemish, and yet this phrasing here suggests that Lucifer was capable of bearing the Mark without losing control."
"He is an archangel." Castiel commented.
"Y'mean he's freaking Satan." Dean jumped in. "Cain might be the Father of Murder but the devil wanted to bring the apocalypse, kill everyone, and destroy the world."
"Ah," Sam cleared his throat. "No, he didn't actually."
Dean did his own version of a bitch-face at his brother.
"Lucifer didn't want to fight Michael." Sam muttered.
Gadreel broke the strange moment of silence that settled upon that remark. "Lucifer's motivations matter not. The important knowledge is that the mark can be transferred."
"Well duh," Dean scoffed, "We know that. Cain gave it to me."
"No, Dean," Sam explained. "We understood Cain was able to give it to you, but that could have been a one off, or because he was Cain, or because you're the Michael Sword, or because Pluto was aligned with Mercury for all we knew…. Now we realize that it's not something Lucifer created specially for Cain. He gave it to Cain. Cain gave it to you. It is transferable."
"That's great and all, Sam, but what do we do with that? I'm not gonna inflict this on some schmuck we meet on the street."
Sam caught his brother's eye. "You can give it to me."
"What?" Dean yelped. "No freaking way in Hell, Sammy. I am not doing that to you. I am not cursing my own brother."
Sam laughed drily. "I'm cursed already. I was cursed before I was born. I've lived with being cursed every breath I've taken, and it never stopped me. There's no-one better to give it to. And there's a chance that I can use Lucifer's Grace to bear it without cost, maybe even neutralize it."
"Shit, Sam, I'm not motherfucking doing that to anyone, and especially not to you, based on a freaking chance. What if you're wrong?"
Sam clenched his jaw. "It's the best option. And if I am wrong, then we're back to square one. One of us has the Mark of Cain and we continue to search for a cure."
"No way in hell." Dean returned. "Not doing it Sam. Not giving you this. I won't. And that's final."
The elder Winchester almost knocked his chair to floor as he made a tactical and stomping retreat from the room. With a brief meaningful look at Gadreel, Castiel leaped to follow.
"I suppose you think I've lost the plot too? Want to talk me down from my crazy plan?" Sam spun to challenge his partner.
Gadreel simply shook his head, lifted the Grace Stone and placed it on the back of Sam's hand, covering it with his own.
"I am not pleased with this plan. I do not think you have considered all angles, and what possible harm could come to you. However, you spoke with love for your brother. Give Castiel time to calm him. Perhaps you should try to get some rest. Then we can discuss all ramifications of our new knowledge and all possible routes from here."
Sam rubbed a knuckle into the corner of his weary eyes. He nodded his head with bitten lips, recognizing the soundness of Gadreel's words. He knew it was a leap of logic to presume he'd have the juice and ability to deal with bearing the Mark. He wouldn't rush headlong into taking the it but if he could deal with the Mark using his vestige of Lucifer's Grace then he was determined that he would convince his stubborn brother that his idea was best.
"I hear you. I'll sleep on it." Sam promised, hoping some shuteye would reboot his melon, giving him the brainpower to research and refine his plan to flawless. He sighed as weariness hit him, and asked "Come with me?"
Gadreel nodded, rising to offer Sam his hand and his company.
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