Thank you so much Jenjoremy for working your beta magic on this and Gredelina1 for helping me hammer out the ideas and encouraging.
Sweden trip is on hold so here's the next chapter.
Chapter Sixteen
They had given Sam his minute, and then, while Castiel stood uselessly at the end of the cot where she had pushed him in her attempts to wake Sam, Charlie tried to rouse him again. She pinched his earlobe and the tips of his fingers. She ground her knuckles into his sternum and shouted his name, and yet he didn't react. All the while, Dean's eyes remained fixed on Sam's face and his hand on Sam's forehead, pushing back the long hair from his face. His gaze was concentrated. Only when Charlie's fingertips dropped from Sam's throat and she barked Dean's name for the second time, did he look at her.
"He needs a hospital," Charlie said firmly.
"He doesn't want—" Dean started but Charlie spoke over him.
"We're past that now. He needsactual doctors and equipment we don't have here."
Dean seemed to take the same meaning from her words that Castiel did. He needed actual doctors or he would never need anything ever again.
Castiel felt nausea rise in his stomach and he swallowed the saliva that flooded his mouth.
Dean stepped back from the bed, his hand moving reluctantly from his brother, and he kicked the brakes off of the wheeled feet of the gurney. "Come on then," he said, grabbing the head of the rolling bed and pushing it at the door. The movement jostled Sam and his hand dropped from his side to hang off of the side of the gurney. The sight of it waving uselessly, uncontrolled by its owner, made Castiel retch. He rushed over to the basin and vomited until his stomach was empty, then, reeling back, he wiped a hand over his mouth and ran from the room following the sounds of Dean and Charlie's voices as they whipped Sam away from home to help and hopefully salvation.
Castiel pulled the car to a halt in a spot of the hospital parking lot and climbed out quickly.
It had been decided at the bunker that Charlie would ride with Dean and Sam to the hospital, as she was the only one who had a chance at helping if anything was to go wrong. Castiel had lost his ability to help anyone when he had lost his grace.
He hurried through the closest door and came into a large lobby area. There was a desk and he was about to go there to seek assistance finding his friends, though he did not know what name Dean would have given for Sam. A voice hailed him though, and a hand settled on his elbow. He spun and saw Charlie beside him. Her eyes were red-rimmed and her usually ivory skin almost grey.
"Sam?" Castiel asked, his voice cracked and fearful.
"He's with the doctors," she said.
"And Dean?"
"He's there, too. They couldn't make him leave."
Of course they couldn't. Dean had been through and seen too much to allow himself to be parted from Sam when things were so uncertain. He would need to be there as Castiel felt he needed to be, too.
"Whereabouts are they?"
"They won't let you see him yet," she said. "Come sit down."
Castiel let her lead him over to a corner of the room and to a chair. He sat, perched on the edge, ready to lurch into action at any moment, though he didn't know anything of use he could do in the situation.
"How is he?" he asked.
Charlie bit her lip. "I don't…"
Castiel merely stared at her, waiting for her to complete her unfinished sentence.
A tear slid down her cheek and she said, "He's so sick, Cas. The whole way here I was willing him to hold on, and he did, but when we got here… It happened fast, they rushed him off and then Dean was shouting, but I think his heart stopped."
Castiel sucked in a shocked breath. "But he's okay now?"
"I don't know. They haven't told me anything, but I think the fact they haven't is good news. If Dean isn't here with us, it means he's still with Sam and that has to mean he's still fighting. Doesn't it?" She sounded very young.
Castiel didn't speak. He wasn't sure any reassurance would be the truth.
She swiped a hand over her face. "I'm scared. I'm scared for Sam, and for Dean, too. I don't know what he'll do if Sam doesn't make it. What will Crowley want this time?"
Castiel had no answer to give. He didn't know what dark and twisted deal Crowley would elicit from them for Sam's life. He knew that, whatever it was, Dean would be willing to make it though. He would do anything it took to save Sam. Castiel wasn't sure he couldn't say the same about himself.
He wrapped an arm around Charlie's shoulders and pulled her close. "We will find a way, Charlie."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she replied.
They sat heads bowed, taking comfort in one another's presence for what seemed like a long time before Castiel saw a shadow fall over them. He looked up and saw a woman dressed in pale blue scrubs standing in front of them.
"Are you with Sam Smith?" she asked.
"Yes," Charlie said, lurching to her feet. "What's happening to him?"
"You can come with me now," the woman replied. "Your friend needs you."
Which friend though? Did Dean need them to comfort him in his anguish or was there still hope for Sam?
Charlie tugged Castiel's arm and he stood. She held his hand tight and they walked together after the woman through double doors and into a large room with beds separated by curtains housing people and companions lining against the walls. It seemed to bustle with energy, and Castiel took heart. Surely if the worst had happened, they would be bringing them to somewhere quiet and respectful, not this noisy place where life was still so obviously being lived.
They passed through that room, though, and into another hall where the sounds were quieter. Castiel felt sick again, but he swallowed it down and forced himself to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
The woman stopped outside a room and tapped on the door. Castiel didn't hear a response, but she eased it open and spoke softly, "Your friends are here," before gesturing them inside.
Charlie released Castiel's hand and walked into the room. Castiel took a moment and a deep breath before entering, terrified of what he would find inside.
It was not the very worst case. Sam was alive. He was lying on a bed with a single pillow beneath his head. His chest was bare, the sheets and blanket only covering him to the waist, and there were small electrodes attached to his skin, connecting to a monitor at the side of the bed that recorded his heartbeats. They seemed too slow. Castiel tried to match them against his own, but his heart was racing in his ears. Under Sam's nose was clear plastic tubing. It stood out starkly against the grey of his skin and the deep shadows under his eyes. He looked terrible, but he was alive.
Dean was sitting beside the bed, his hands clasped under his chin. Though his chair faced the door, he didn't take his eyes from his brother until Charlie spoke his name.
His hands dropped to his lap and he said, "They got him back," in a tone void of animation.
"Yes," Charlie agreed. "Thank God."
"Not Him," Dean said darkly. "He has nothing to do with this."
Charlie pulled up a plastic chair beside Dean's and sat down, her hand reaching to clasp his.
Dean swallowed hard. "It's the same as last time. They did these scans, and all the injuries from before are there. His organs are burned." He sounded disgusted. "It's like Zeke was never there in there at all. All the damage is back."
Castiel gasped, understanding. How could he have not seen this? He had begged Sam not to do it, but it had been unformed fear then. He hadn't known—God forgive him, he hadn't seen—that the grace in Sam was what was holding him together.
His guilt must have shown in his eyes as Dean narrowed his and accused, "You knew this was going to happen?"
"No!" Castiel gasped, horrorstruck. "I didn't think… But I see now."
Dean nodded slowly. "Yeah, it wasn't just grace we were pulling from Sam, it was healing, too. It was his life."
"Oh God," Charlie whimpered. "I did this to him."
"No, I did it," Dean said. "I thought Sam was strong enough. I didn't stop you when I should have. I didn't see what it was really doing. I thought he could beat it."
"We all played a part," Castiel said. "I should have realized what taking the grace would do. I didn't think. I would have known once. The blame falls upon us all."
"No one's fault," a raspy voice whispered.
"Sam!" Dean said, lurching to his feet and leaning over the bed.
Sam's eyes opened slowly and he looked up at his brother. "Hey."
Dean laughed shakily. "Hey. How're you doing?"
Sam winced. "Hurts."
"I know, man, I'll get them to give you something."
"No," Sam said. "I don't want to sleep. We need to talk."
"We can talk later," Dean said.
Sam's bloodshot eyes fixed on him. "I've been able to hear for a while now, Dean. I just couldn't wake up. I heard what the doctor said."
Dean flinched as if the words had been a blow. "They don't know what they're talking about," he said harshly.
Sam shook his head slightly, wincing as if the movement pained him. "They do. And we need to talk"—he licked his lips—"about what comes after."
Dean's hands bunched in the sheet beside Sam's shoulder. "There is no after. There is only now, and now we're going to fix this."
"No, we're not. This time we're letting it go."
Dean straightened. "I am not letting anything go, including you, so you can quit that shit now."
Sam sighed tiredly. "Dean, we have to talk about it. This is it. This time it's happening, and you can't stop it."
"The hell I can't!"
"I don't want you to. I don't want angels. I don't want demons or faith healers or whatever else you can think of. Don't fight it. It's time."
Dean stepped away from the bed. "You don't mean that."
"I do," Sam said, his voice stronger now. "You have to stop. Please, Dean, let me…"
"Go?" Dean snapped. "No! It's not time."
Sam smiled sadly. The small gesture seemed to sap what remained of Dean's equilibrium. He spun on his heel and marched to the door. Yanking it open, he strode through and let it swing closed behind him.
"Charlie," Sam said weakly, turning to her, his face falling as he saw the tears spilling down her cheeks. "Can you go after him? Don't let him do anything stupid, okay?"
Charlie nodded and swiped a hand over her face. "I will. You…" She trailed off.
"I'll be here when you get back," Sam reassured her, though Castiel wondered how he could be so sure. Did he know he had enough fight in him to last a little longer, or was it an empty promise?
Charlie slipped from the room, a choking sound following after her just before the door closed.
Sam watched her go then said, "I guess I should have listened to you after all."
"Yes," Castiel said. "You should have." He moved around the bed and sat in the chair Dean had vacated, his hand stretching to rest on the bed a few inches from Sam's.
Sam patted his hand shakily and said, "I'm sorry, Cas. You were right. It was a bad idea." He smiled slightly. "At least we got the grace out."
Castiel stared at him stunned. How could he see that as a positive when it was costing his life?
"You'll be able to find him," Sam went on. "You have to do that, okay?"
"He will be punished," Castiel said. "I promise you."
"Good," Sam said. "Dean will need that. When I'm gone, you have to give him something to fight for. Help him find that angel and kill it for what it did to us. Make that his focus."
Castiel nodded. He would make it Dean's and his own
"There's something else, something that might help you," Sam said. "When we were extracting the grace, I saw things. Parts of it were things that happened when I was possessed, others were things from my own life, but there was more—things I had never seen before. I think they were the angel's memories."
Castiel's eyes widened. "What did you see?"
"A garden," Sam said. "It was the most beautiful place I have ever seen. I was happy there—though it wasn't me—but then there was more. There was a cell and I was hurting. I think I was being tortured by another angel. There was so much light; it looked just like the grace."
Castiel felt that he should be numb to more shock, but as Sam told the story and he realized who he must be speaking of, he felt a hammer blow to his gut. There was only one angel that had been stationed at the garden and had been tortured for his crime there.
"I think his name was Gadreel," Sam said.
The Betrayer, the cause of all evil in the world was free, and he had been in Sam. Though Castiel knew he never could have struck the blow that ended Sam's life, he wished he could have killed him when he had the chance.
"We will end him," Castiel vowed. He would help kill the angel that caused the world so much misery. He would avenge his friend and make the angel pay for the waste that was Sam's end.
His throat seemed to swell shut as misery swept over him.
"It's okay, Cas," Sam said soothingly.
Castiel blinked and felt wetness on his cheek. He was crying. He realized then that his breaths were harsh and his hands shaking, too.
"Please don't, Cas."
Castiel swiped a hand over his face to clear the evidence of his tears, but he couldn't make his breaths steady. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Sam said, drawing a deep breath and resting his head back against his pillow for a moment. "It'll be okay soon."
"How can you accept this?" Castiel asked with a hint of anger in his tone. "Why aren't you fighting?"
"Because there is nothing left to fight for but my own humanity," Sam said. "And that is what I am clinging to. I have lost sight of that before, with Ruby and the blood, and I will not lose it again. I am human and humans die."
"But if you didn't have to?" Castiel asked.
Sam shook his head. "I do. Saving my life will cost something or someone. It always does. I don't want my life's legacy to be that. Bobby told me I had done better, and I want to go with good behind me not more failure."
"Bobby told you?" Castiel asked.
"Long story," he said weakly. "The point is, you have to stop Dean. He won't want to let me go. He'll try to save me, and I don't want him to."
"You want to die?"
"No," Sam said, his voice stronger now. "I don't want to go. I want to stay with you and Dean, Charlie and Kevin, but I can't. I can't win this time."
Castiel stared at his friend, this strong, powerful man with so much left to offer, and he felt a wave of anger at himself. He had failed. Had he his grace he could have saved him. Sam would never be in this position: on the precipice of death with only determination to save the people left behind in his control. He wished more than anything there was something he could do.
Then he realized there was. He may not have his grace, that was lost to him, but there was something he could have in its place—someone else's.
He lurched to his feet and Sam's expression became concerned. "Cas?"
"I need a minute," he said, knowing Sam would understand and accept it. "I will come back soon."
"Okay," Sam said tiredly.
"Rest, Sam," Castiel said, as Sam's eyes drooped. "I will be back soon."
"I'll be here," Sam mumbled.
Yes, Castiel thought, he would.
He strode through the door and spotted Charlie and Dean seated on hard chairs a little way along the corridor. Dean looked stricken at the sight of him, clearly fearing the worst.
Castiel stopped in front of him and fixed him with a stare. "Sam is resting now. He will need you when he wakes."
Charlie nodded. "We're coming."
"I'm going," Castiel said. "There is something I need to do." He hesitated. "Tell Sam nothing of what I have said, but keep him strong a little longer, keep him here. Make no other choices, do not contact anyone else."
Dean looked at him, something like hope in his eyes. "What are you doing, Cas?"
"I am going to save him," Castiel said walking away from them, feeling their gaze on his back.
He was almost at the car when his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He checked the screen and saw Kevin's name. He answered quickly.
"Where the hell are you all?" Kevin asked in lieu of a greeting. "The Impala's gone and there's a damn gurney where it was. Is Sam sick again?"
"Yes," Castiel said simply. "We're at the hospital. Come quickly. They need you."
He ended the call without another word. There was somewhere he needed to be.
When Castiel had fled Bartholomew before, he hadn't paid the greatest amount of attention to where he was held. He recognized the place he had stolen the car from though, and from there he backtracked along the streets until he found the building that had housed Buddy Boyle's enterprise. Pulling the car to a halt he climbed out and made for the entrance.
The same woman was seated at the reception desk and she smiled blandly as he entered. "May I help you?" she asked, her voice coolly professional.
"My name is Castiel. I am here to see Bartholomew."
She picked up a phone and pressed a button. After a moment, she spoke, "Sir, I have a Castiel here to see you." She listened for a beat and then said, "Very good, Sir." She set the phone back in its cradle and said. "He will see you now. Take the elevator to the sixth floor and he will be waiting for you."
"Thank you," Castiel said, making for the bank of elevators. He summoned a car and when the doors slid open, he stepped inside and pressed the button for the sixth floor. He felt a little sick again, nervous. So much rode on this meeting. If Bartholomew had changed his mind, he didn't know what he would do. He needed this to save Sam, and the rest of their small family by extension; not one of them would be unchanged should Sam be allowed to die.
When the doors opened on the sixth floor, Bartholomew was waiting for him in the neutrally decorated hall.
"Castiel," he said, arms wide. "I am surprised to see you again so soon."
"Bartholomew," Castiel said respectfully.
Bartholomew led him into the office they'd met in last time, and gestured him into a chair, taking his own behind the desk. "How have you been?" he asked.
"Things have been difficult." Castiel was eager to get to the point of their meeting, not knowing how long Sam would have the strength left to fight, but he knew he had to handle Bartholomew carefully. "I need help, Bartholomew."
The angel raised an eyebrow. "How can I be of assistance?"
"Is the offer to join you still open?" he asked.
"Yes. It will remain open until you take it."
"Then I would like to… negotiate."
Bartholomew looked almost amused. "Negotiate? I think my offer is a good one, Castiel. I will return you to your former glory in return for you joining our ranks as my second. What more could you possibly want?"
"I need some time, just a few days before joining you," Castiel said. "And I need assistance with something else."
Bartholomew steepled his fingers under his chin. "What 'something else'?"
"There is an angel I need help locating, and when he is found, I need agreement that the Winchesters and I can end him alone."
"Which angel?" Bartholomew asked.
This was the point of the plan Castiel was unsure of. If Bartholomew knew Gadreel was freed, he would seek to kill him himself—any angel would. But this was not the crux of it. The grace was. Castiel needed that to save Sam. Anything else was secondary to that.
"Gadreel," he said.
Bartholomew's eyes widened. "He is free?"
Castiel nodded. "All angels were cast down. Heaven's jail must have been emptied, too."
"And you want to end him?"
"Yes. Winchesters and I are owed a debt by him, and we wish to be the ones to collect." He shifted uncomfortably. He wanted to get back to Sam already.
Bartholomew considered. "I admit that I am more than eager to end that angel myself, but you have my agreement if you keep your part of the deal, Castiel. I will give you four days to complete your business and I will allow you and the Winchesters the privilege of that kill if you come back to me in return and serve as my second-in-command."
"I will," Castiel said solemnly.
He held out a hand and Bartholomew shook it firmly. "Then we are agreed." He reached into his pocket and pulled out the vial of swirling grace that was the price of Sam's salvation. Castiel took it from him and stood, taking his last human breath and absorbing the last few beats of his human life giving heart. Then he pulled the stopper from the vial and tossed it to the floor.
Blue-white light swirled around him, rising to his lips. He opened his mouth and let it pour into him, changing him, empowering him, making him an angel again.
Sam's eyes blinked sluggishly. Every time they closed he had to fight to open them again. He was tired, exhausted even, but with every glance around the room he saw his brother's face looking at him, scared and sad, Charlie's tearstained one and Kevin's pallor, and they made him fight. It was the empty seat he really held out for though, the one that should house Castiel.
He wasn't sure how long his friend had been gone, time seemed irrelevant now at the end, but it seemed to Sam too long. He was in no hurry to close his eyes for the last time, but he didn't think he could hang on much longer. He was just so tired.
He didn't worry about what the former angel was doing though. He thought if anyone in his family would respect his choice to let it end now, it would be Castiel.
He blinked again and this time his eyes seemed impossible to open. It was only Dean's voice, pleading with him, that enabled him to open them again.
"S'okay," he whispered.
Someone choked back a sob but he didn't know who. He hated that he was doing this to them—putting them through this macabre time before his goodbye—but he couldn't deny he was comforted by it, too. He felt loved knowing they were all there for him now.
He felt a wave of pain rock through him, and he jerked. A hand gripped his. "You're okay," Dean soothed.
Sam nodded, not having the strength to reply aloud.
He was drifting away on his thoughts when he heard the door open. He looked to it, and smiled when he saw Castiel on the threshold.
"Cas." He tried to speak, but his voice was a mere weak breath of air passing his lips.
"I am here," Castiel said.
Sam was glad. It was time now.
Castiel came to the side of the bed and reached for Sam's forehead. For a moment, Sam was confused, then he felt a shock of pain rocket through him and his back arched off of the bed, his eyes squeezing shut.
"Sammy!" Dean's voice seemed to come from far away.
"What the hell are you doing?" someone else asked.
He heard Castiel's voice, strong and holding the timbre of power Sam had not heard from him in a long time, "I am saving him."
Sam felt heat surge through him and the heady feeling that accompanied being healed by an angel, and he knew.
Oh, Castiel, what have you done?
So… That happened. Poor Sam. Poor everyone. Cas is an angel(ish) again, and now he's got to go to Barthomoloew—who I detest by the way. Still, Sam lives. That's worth it, right?
Until next time…
Clowns or Midgets xxx