A/N: I'm baaaaack…. (I know, nobody saw this coming. Not even me.)
For those of you returning, I'm so sorry that it's been so long and that you probably remember 0% of this story. For those of you joining us for the first time at 3am, may I be the first to say THANK YOU for repeatedly hitting "next chapter."
This chapter's a little weird cause I haven't written for this story in a looooong time, but I'll get back into the swing of it.
I've already wasted years of everyone's time so I won't waste any more with notes–
Sam and Dean are waiting for you….
The brief rest period the hunting quartet had taken was quickly becoming unrestful. As the hours ticked by, every one of them grew more paranoid about what confrontations lay on the horizon. And so, left with little choice, Team Free Will 3.0 laid out a plan. With Dean's newfound realization that the grace couldn't be taken without his permission, and with a little more information from Nikki about Zadkiel's plan, they were as informed as they would ever be. After several grueling hours thinking things through, Dean, Sam, Cas, and Nikki finally committed to a decision: they'd leave.
They weren't physically traveling far, but the act was a huge step forward. Their destination was a decommissioned Parks and Rec center; the neighboring township having lost what little funding they had to begin with. The odd destination had a specific purpose, though, and soon enough they would discover whether or not it was the place for the task at hand. Their lengthy and comprehensive discussions led them to one particular theory, one plausibility.
Maybe Michael's grace was capable of much more than they'd assumed; maybe Dean was capable of harnessing more power than they'd ever thought possible.
The run-in with Zadkiel had proven that there was immense power in Dean; power that the angels were scared of—enough energy to turn his eyes a blazing blue. Likewise, Nikki's observations proved that Heaven's dissenters believed that whatever remained of Michael's grace had the capacity to wield immense power. The question then became clear: what if Dean could learn to control that power?
In an empty, abandoned gym, in an empty, abandoned town, they planned for an experimental lesson to take place. Pulling into an abandoned lot, the car load of people eased out of the vehicle and cautiously made their way inside the building. A preliminary sweep proved it to be, in fact, just as empty as it looked.
Dean stood in the middle of the large room, Cas standing a few feet across from him. Sam and Nikki, serving as the peanut gallery, sat on rickety bleachers. The first order of business, they agreed, would be for Castiel to attempt to guide Dean through tapping into the power of the grace. All of them were more than concerned at what outcome this might have, but as the days rolled by, Zadkiel and his band of soldiers were getting closer and closer to an ambush. Time was no longer a luxury.
Sam was unexpectedly relaxed. There was something about moving and planning that bred a kind of confidence in him; it assuaged all worry and fear. In the last 36 hours they'd been crazed, sure, and he'd been wild and overwhelmed. But it was a lot like hunting; with every new problem they faced, they were one step closer to success. The more that their stressors and anxiety could be put on a target—could be focused on Zadkiel—the more manageable they became. Besides which, whatever inherent risk there was in poking the metaphorical bear that was the grace within Dean, Sam felt infinitely more comfortable with Cas leading the charge. Not only was he certainly the most qualified to be dealing with angel-matters, but beyond that, there was no one that Sam trusted more. Not when it came to his brother.
So as strange as it was to have Cas standing in the middle of a dark, abandoned gym, guiding Dean through what could only be described as meditation, Sam was relieved.
"Dean." Cas began his calming, yet strict narration. "Close your eyes. Remember the dampness of the warehouse. The tension in your muscles. Remember seeing Nikki, captive. Remember how tightly they had you…" Cas paused briefly. "Remember the wave that flooded over you in that moment; the power that protected you."
Dean stood, eyes closed, attempting to focus on the angel's words. It was difficult for Dean to follow Cas' instructions; his memory of that night was so very faded. As Dean attempted to cast his mind back to the moment the grace surged within him, he became distracted by an intense nausea. Ignoring it, Dean tried to bring back every memory of fear he'd ever had; he started with moments of simple adrenaline. Memories of loud, unexpected gunshots and screams...memories of being tied down or strung up…But his mind quickly raised the bar; flooding his conscience were larger, deeper, cerebral wounds. Watching Sam collapse into the mud, knife wound seeping blood...Seeing Cas' ashy, burned wings splayed on the ground...And before he could manage to control it, every devastating memory Dean had was wreaking havoc on his psyche. He was faintly aware of Cas' shouts to him, the sound of Sam scrambling down from the bleachers, but all he could think about was the nausea building, his head beginning to pound, his blood boiling, and the surge of energy bursting through his core. Then, as soon as it made itself known, it vanished.
Dean felt his legs give out beneath him, the hard wood of the gym floor bluntly meeting his kneecaps. Someone's hand was on his shoulder—the pressure unbearable. Instinctively, Dean twisted out of the grasp and at the same time, gasped for air. As a breath filled his lungs and the pressure subsided, he felt that he was coming back to himself. As if he had been underwater, but was now aware that he was almost breaching the surface. Suddenly, in his field of view were rafters—a dodgeball wedged between a perpendicular joint. And then, replacing the red dodgeball, was Cas' face. Following shortly was Sam's, and then Nikki's. It appeared that he'd drawn quite the crowd. Impressive, considering he had no idea what had just happened.
"Dean?"
Despite having clear vision, Dean couldn't see whose mouth had moved. It was as if there was still a delay between his senses and his thoughts. Sound seemed to be coming back to him faster, though, and he realized he needn't have seen Sam's mouth move to know that he had been the one to speak.
"What happened?" Dean rasped, impressed at the words' clarity, and made a move to sit up.
"Blue light." Nikki's comment was hardly audible due to her low volume, but Dean still heard it.
"What's it do?" Dean gave a half grin, beginning the phrase and hoping she would finish it.
"Turns blue." Nikki smiled in turn as Sam rolled his eyes and extended a hand which Dean took readily.
Cas looked on in extreme confusion as Sam took pity on him and explained that Dean and Nikki's exchange had been a series of lines from Rambo. The explanation did little to ease the angel's confusion but it was the effort that mattered.
Now standing, Dean looked around and saw no visible signs of damage to the gym.
"Seriously though, what happened? I go all glow-stick? That it?"
"Cas?" Sam asked, prompting him.
"You controlled the grace, Dean. It was momentary, but you did it."
"And by 'controlled' you mean…?"
"It didn't knock you on your ass." Cas specified, resulting in a mildly amused smirk from Dean. He was proud he'd taught the angel some bite.
"What's next?!" Dean took a step towards Cas and excitedly threw his hand out to clap against Castiel's shoulder.
At the moment of contact, Cas' head threw back somewhat, and he lost his footing. It was as if he'd received an electric shock. Instinctively reaching out to stabilize his friend, Dean was paused by Sam's warning just before he grabbed Cas by the coat.
"Stop! It might be you!"
Dean immediately retracted his hand. Sam replaced it with his own, steadying Cas. The angel raised his head and blinked a few times as he grounded himself.
"You okay?" Sam clarified.
"Yes." Castiel's face appeared to still be in the midst of thought and the three others waited for his mind to clear. "That was… bizarre."
"Bizarre? What does that mean…Exactly?" Sam pushed further, hand still hovering behind Cas' back.
"Well…" Cas paused. "I'm not exactly sure." He subtly waved Sam away and instead reached a hand out to Dean, laying it on the hunter's shoulder. The same scenario unfolded and Cas' body stiffened with an invisible shock coursing through him. Dean snapped, turning out of Cas' touch. Dean hadn't felt a thing, but it was clear that Cas' experience was wholly different.
"Stop doing that!" Dean's comment was earnest but also came out with a heavy dose of humor.
"That jolt? That zap I keep getting? It's the same thing that happened when I tried to look inside your head after you were knocked out with Zadkiel." Cas explained.
"It's not like I'm tryin' to block you out, Cas." Dean defended himself, as if Cas wasn't well-aware that Dean couldn't control any of this.
"It's not so much you, but as a vessel–"
Cas became so lost in attempting to explain the phenomenon that he hadn't paid due attention to his language. Vessel was singularly, perhaps, the worst word that Castiel could have chosen to use. It reduced Dean down to nothing more than a meat sack; and a meat sack for angels, no less. Cas unconsciously replayed the conflicts that he and Dean had since the incident. So many memories laced with frustration and resentment and helplessness.
In the beginning, Castiel had been a symbol of hope. Oh so quickly, though, he'd fallen from that proverbial grace. Unable to heal Dean, or to see inside his head, and unaware of the most intimate and sensitive aspects of human struggle, he'd been deemed useless. Neither Sam nor Dean had ever used that word, of course. But nonetheless, the implication had been clear. Angels—all angels—were unforgivable. It was prejudiced, undeniably. But could Cas truly make an argument against it? No. He was already so steeped in self-loathing that it had been difficult for him not to believe that he was as destructive and harmful as Michael. Claire's life had been destroyed by her father's death; what did it matter that Jimmy had prayed for it? And that was only Cas' doing, not to mention his brethren. Lucifer had singularly obliterated Sam's consciousness; there was no recovering from the decimation caused. And now, most recently: Dean and Michael. The sum total of the ramifications was still unclear and yet were already unspeakable.
All of this– all these memories and implications and horrors– were wound up tightly and concisely in a single word. A word that Castiel had so regrettably uttered. …
Vessel.
Castiel wasn't entirely sure how he had expected Dean to react. All Cas knew was that the word had been uttered, and he was willing to endure any punishment. Meeting Dean's eyes, Cas saw no discernible emotion. Was that possible? He stared a moment longer, almost inviting an emotional break.
None came.
At least … … not from Dean.
Where Dean's eyes were cool and composed, Sam's were filled with contempt. His face had twisted up with pain and disgust; confusion and disappointment swarming him in a dense cloud. The cool and confident disposition he had earlier…? Entirely fallen away. His lips parted to speak and there was a single beat of silence before sound actually came.
"What did you just say?" Sam enunciated each syllable, voice uncharacteristically deep.
Dean turned to look at his brother with confusion.
Castiel, needing no time to consider Sam's reaction, loosened his posture and let his mouth hang open. He didn't know what to say… what could he say? He settled for the most instinctive phrase before attempting to craft something more genuine and coherent.
"I'm so sorry…"
Dean, now officially realizing he was a step behind, tried to jump in.
"What the hell just happened?"
Sam, almost spitting, continued staring at Cas while he responded to Dean.
"He called you a vessel."
"And?" Dean was still lost.
Hearing this, Sam broke his gaze with the angel and turned to stare Dean down instead.
"You're not a vessel, Dean."
"Well not to get all technical but… I am. I was. He's not wrong, Sam."
"You agree with him?" Sam asked, with disappointment and disgust.
Cas took a step in, speaking.
"I wasn't… That's not what I was trying to say." Cas defended himself but Sam only grew in rage.
"But you did. You did say it. Michael is gone. Lucifer is gone. They're not a part of us anymore…. We were never—We never existed for them—"
Dean and Cas now understood.
It wasn't about the word, or Michael, or even Dean. It was about Lucifer. Lucifer and his particular, distinct brand of torture. Sam had lived with the Devil in a way that Dean could never understand… Their experiences were so different, even if they remained similar. And the way that Lucifer had controlled Sam… they way that he had trapped him, warped him, controlled him… It has been much more meticulous than what Michael had done with Dean. And Sam felt so much more the vessel–the hollowed receptacle, holding evil and hatred and destruction–than Dean ever did. Michael possessed Dean for a purpose: power. But Lucifer? Lucifer grew all too invested in playing with Sam in a way that simply hadn't interested Michael. Both experiences were hell… both unspeakably atrocious… but they were distinct nonetheless, even for everything they held in common. Sam's instinctual, knee-jerk reaction to the word was an uncontrollable one. In fact, Dean appreciated, truly, how difficult it must have been for Sam, all these months, to have to be constantly reminded of the worst experience of his life. And not only that, but Dean knew his brother completely– and Dean knew that the physical damage he was experiencing from Michael…? Dean knew that some dark, buried part of Sam felt that he was lucky to have avoided that. Dean feared–above all else– that somehow Sam felt that his own traumas were somehow lesser. Not a single moment was spent ignoring this small revelation. Dean took a breath and looked at Cas, and then to Nikki who had decidedly slinked away. Finally, his eyes rested on Sam. He took a step in, grabbing his brother's arm and began leading him away.
"C'mere."
Sam went willingly, still fragile and unconcerned with Cas or Nikki's watchful eyes. Dean led them to a darkened corner of the gym and gave Sam a chance to breathe. Before Dean had a chance to speak, Sam cut in.
"I'm sorry. Shouldn't have let it get to me."
"Would you do me a favor?" Dean's brow rose in genuine request, his eyes soft and head tilted slightly. "Stop. Stop bein' rational. Stop bein' mature. Stop apologizing. Fight, moan, bitch, complain, stomp, rattle, bite…" Dean trailed off, "Sammy–"
"I'm not gonna… I'm not gonna make this about me, Dean. I can't make it about me, it's not about me."
"The hell it isn't." Dean could not have been more direct. "Sam. Listen to me. All this? This shitstorm? It's us. It's not just you, it's not just me. Because every time we survive… Every time we crawl outta the apocalypse, crawl out of the pit? It's not just that one time. It's every time we've done hunt and it's not just the Adlet; it's every Tom, Dick and Monster we've put down. I get possessed by Michael? That's just the newest event in a very long history of every possession we've ever had to suffer through. Everything adds up, Sam. That's what life is. So everything we do now is a sum total of everything we've ever done. And we've never done that alone. You don't wanna make this about you and Lucifer? Too bad. Already is. So talk to me."
Sam let out a breath and shifted his eyes slightly; a nervous kind of tick. His gaze settled then, and he stared at Dean directly.
"I don't think I…– I never thought you understood. What was happening with Lucifer. And I didn't really expect you to. I knew that you knew that you didn't know what I was going through…" Sam understood his phrasing was confusing but he didn't break momentum. "But I was still upset, somehow, that you couldn't understand. I guess because I needed someone. And it couldn't be you. It couldn't be you, when it had always been you. And so when you said yes to Michael, I thought it would be easier. Because we'd… because I'd know. But it doesn't work like that. And that's… that's still really hard for me to learn. Because I want us to do it together. And we can't. Not completely."
"It's never gonna be complete, Sam. Nothin' ever is. You and Lucifer? You're right– always have been. I'll never truly get it. But that won't stop me from bein' here, okay? And I know the same is true the other way around."
"I just don't know if being here is enough anymore." Sam was defeated and Dean took the comment to heart. Had Dean abandoned Sam in all this?
"I know I haven't been… … that I'm not always the same brother I used to be–"
"No, nono, no. That's not what I'm saying" Sam insisted.
"It's okay if you are." Dean's words were a bit swallowed, but he was wholly honest.
"I hate being on the outside. I look at you and Cas… how you've been able to figure everything out with the grace and Zadkiel…And I see you with Nikki; how you can relax with her. And I don't know… I don't know what to do. What can I do?"
"I've been there man, believe me. Azazel, Lucifer, Gadreel, the Trials… There've been so many freakin' times I felt like there was just nothing. Nothing I could do to make anything better. I just wanted— I always wanted— to take away your pain, Sammy. I still don't know how to do that. But I knew you needed me. And I need you."
Sam nodded adamantly; not only because he agreed, but because he was comforted. It was true that they'd both had their fair share of time spent both as the supporter and the supported. Hearing the list of times that Dean had felt useless to Sam was a stark reminder of how needed Sam really was. Sam knew he never could have survived without Dean; he trusted that the same was true in reverse. Sam released another held breath and rubbed his face momentarily. He was still shaken and Dean knew it.
"Sammy…" Dean tried gentle encouragement.
"I'm so scared." Sam ran through the phrase quickly, almost cringing at its sound. "Any time we try something new…I'm afraid of losing you. The way you lost me to Lucifer. I don't know if they'll be a day when you don't know who I am, or if you can trust me…" Sam shook off his vulnerability slightly, hardening just a bit. "I want us to try controlling the grace. I think it's our best play. But yeah. It scares me. And the fact that Zadkiel's scared? That's terrifying. I hate feeling like we're not holding all the cards."
"We'll take it slow. We'll figure it out. C'mere." Dean pulled Sam forward for a brief moment of connection. The short-lived half-hug was a forced reset for the both of them.
Parting, Dean clasped Sam's shoulder.
"You good?"
Sam nodded in response and they began walking back to the bleachers. Cas and Nikki had busied themselves in mindless conversation in order to lessen the temptation for eavesdropping, though they were still hyper-sensitive to all happenings. As Sam and Dean came to a halt in front of the seats, Cas parted his lips to apologize once again; Sam's raised hand stopped him.
"My bad, Cas. I know you didn't mean anything."
"Sam, I promise you–" Cas began.
"So what's the deal with me zappin' your ass?" Dean cut Cas off, redirecting the conversation and sparing Sam from another few minutes of reliving his breakdown.
Cas' sad eyes still lingered, but he respected Sam enough to cease his own desperate pleas for forgiveness.
"Angel grace is not our essence, like it's simply our power. It's a battery. It's just energy. But… grace does have certain markers. A kind of DNA, I suppose. Which is why the archangels have perfect vessels– a physical form that will allow the grace to reach its full power. Michael's grace is at its highest power when it's inside of you, Dean. Michael might be dead, but you're still the sword. My grace can't compete with it. So long as Michael's grace is still there, my grace is… incompatible."
"But you've looked inside his head before…" Sam pointed out, noting the discrepancy.
"How come sometimes I lay out a welcome mat and other times I stiff-arm you?" Dean asked, agitated that their conversations went in endless circles.
Nikki, who had remained mostly unassuming, suddenly released a gentle sigh.
"What grows bigger the more you take away…?" Nikki whispered, eyes downcast.
There was a moment of silence as the three men attempted to recognize what Nikki's riddle had to do with the conversation at hand. Then, Sam's face fell; Cas and Dean's shoulders dropped as soon as they realized that Sam had figured it out.
"A hole…" Sam delivered the riddle's answer with a soft-spoken pain; Dean had been so broken for what felt like so long– a gaping wound in him that nothing could fill. Naively, Sam had hoped that as the grace waned, maybe Dean could slowly grow whole again. But the opposite could be just as true.
But Dean wasn't in Sam's head, and he was still behind. He shifted his feet a little and let out a mild grunt. He waited another beat of silence before finally speaking up.
"Again, but like I'm five, please…" Dean requested.
"The more you use the grace, the stronger it becomes." Sam said, tone even but forlorn.
"We don't really know that," Dean bit, "I could also just be burning through it."
For some reason, this news, more than most, didn't sit well with Dean. Maybe it was the fact that it was another useless conclusion that would inevitably be proven wrong, maybe it was because the realization had come from Nikki, or maybe it was simply because Dean couldn't shake memories of Sam being defiled by Lucifer.
"But it explains the timeline. Why Cas hasn't been able to connect with you recently," Sam countered.
"You buyin' this?" Dean shot Cas a challenging look and Cas swallowed with hesitation.
"The grace is most compatible with y—"
"Spare me the freakin' science lecture. We don't know jack shit, okay? We never have and I doubt we ever will."
"Dean, I'm sorry if I overstepped…" Nikki's head shook back and forth in desperate apology but Dean's stern stare stopped her mid-sentence.
"It's not your crap to deal with Nikki. You shouldn't have gotten dragged into this, but don't you dare think that means you're remotely close to being caught up—"
"DEAN!" Sam's sudden chastising cut off Dean's venomous commentary, but a different kind of violence replaced it.
POP! POP! POP! POP!
The light fixtures above them exploded in succession, raining down shards of glass in a messy, sudden burst. Sam turned inwards to help shield Nikki from the fragments, but his eyes trained on Dean. Blood was cascading down the side of his face, but Sam wasn't as much concerned with the wound as he was the faint glowing blue of his brother's eyes.
POP! Another light burst overhead. Sam feared the windows would be next.
"CAS-" Sam got the angel's attention and threw his head to gesture to Dean.
Castiel put a hand to Dean's forehead, and instead of receiving the shock he'd gotten earlier, Cas felt nothing. Instead, Dean's body went rigid and extended, as if electricity had been shot through him. The blue light extinguished from his eyes as he collapsed into Cas, unconscious.
( ) ( ) ( )
"Guess that's what I get for being a dick, huh?" Dean sat on top of the toilet lid of the motel bathroom, dressed in dark sweatpants and a white t-shirt that had seen better days. His good arm held a bag of ice to his head as Cas stood next to him, slowly removing bits of glass from a gash along his hairline.
"Given the circumstances, you should cut yourself some…" Cas didn't know quite how to finish.
"Slack," Dean added.
"Anyone would have expected you to have been more of a dick than you have been." Cas had a pacifying tone– one he'd attempted to mimic after years of listening to Sam.
"Gee, thanks." Dean closed his eyes and winced as Cas grazed over a particularly deep portion of the laceration.
"I meant that as a genuine compliment." Cas clarified, dropping another small piece of glass into the tub with a quiet clink. "How does it feel?"
"To have berated my friend and disappointed my brother? Feels awesome. Thanks." Dean's voice was low and gruff with sarcasm and pain.
"I meant your head," Cas said.
"Yeah…" Dean took a quiet breath, "I know."
Cas straightened his back from his crunched position and stood at full height, looking at Dean's wound from afar.
"I think it's clean now. I'm not sure what to do next… I'm not used to healing in a human way."
"Ehhh, it's fine. I'll live. Thanks." Dean stood from the toilet seat and went to inspect his head in the mirror. Cas walked back out to the main part of the room and stood, watching Dean.
"You know… keeping Sam away isn't going to lessen his worry." Cas knew that Dean had shunned Sam in the last hour, ever since he regained consciousness.
"Cas, not now, man." Dean's shoulders slumped in defeat and he dropped his head so he could no longer see himself in the mirror.
It hadn't really sunk in at the time, but Sam's confession from earlier was weighing heavily on Dean. God, he hated to see Sam so scared; in an instant, fear reduced them to children. Despite the fact that they were fully grown, Sam, talking to Dean in that gym… he might as well have been six years old. And that made Dean ten. And ten year old Dean was afraid of a lot of things. Hell, ten year old Dean was afraid of everything.
"Sam is strong, Dean."
"You think I don't know that? Of course I know that. But he shouldn't have to be! And god knows he shouldn't have to be for me." Dean turned away from the mirror, leaving his ice on the counter, and turned to face Cas. "He won't let me be his brother anymore. Ever since that day it's like it's been a one-way street. And I get it, man. I've been there. But it's too long… he's gotta lean on someone. I want it to be me, I do. And I hope he will. But no matter how hard I try, I can't force his hand." Dean bit his lip, shook his head slightly and sat on the edge of the bed.
"You're right, Dean. You can't force his hand. So stop trying to. Go talk to him."
"Don't wanna freak him out. He's gonna ask about what happened with the light show."
"And your solution is to never tell him?" Cas' dry humor was a welcomed relief to the tension in the room.
"He still with Nikki?" Dean asked.
"I believe so," Cas responded.
Dean stood from the bed, grabbed the room key off the table, and headed out the door to go find Sam.
As he walked down to the other room, Dean tried to find exactly the right way to tell his brother what happened at the gym. No matter how many times he phrased it in his head, he didn't like the way it sounded. How was he supposed to tell Sam that that getting mad… and having the grace surge through him… it felt...
Well… Dean thought, Fuck. Me. …. It kinda felt good.