Chapter VII

Roads ahead

Dean was not even halfway to a full awareness from his uneasy, nightmare-induced sleep when his instincts screamed at him: someone not-Sam was inside the room. His hand slid under the pillow, fingers curling around the handle of his trusty hunting knife. On the next moment, he pulled it out, twisting around as he did, and thrust it at the enemy, his senses opening up for better precision.

It picked on the already familiar presence at the same time as Dean saw the familiar face. He tried to stop the attack, but only managed to jerk his hand to the side before his leg got tangled in the bed sheets. His surprised, "Cas—!" got cut short as he tumbled out of the bed with a yelp.

"Hello, Dean."

Dean didn't even bother to stand up. He lay there with his back against the carpet, feeling miserable. His pride already got a hit. Imagine the oldest and most powerful Archangel falling out of his bed! He groaned at the thought, scrubbing his hands down his face with a curse under his breath, "Dammit, Castiel."

At least, the angel had the decency to appear slightly guilty. "My apologies," he said. His two sets of wings shifted as Castiel rearranged their position. After a moment, he asked, "What were you dreaming about?"

Dean stiffened, lifting his hand off his face to shoot him a glare. That was none of anyone's business. His human consciousness playing with him was his problem. Castiel had already seen him at his lowest, and Dean didn't dare to even imagine what this young Seraph would think if he knew his true identity. He would find out eventually and who knew how he would react, but it wasn't here or now.

"What do you want?" Dean asked, his tone harsher than he intended, but his hackles were up now and there was no point in trying to smooth it out.

"You have to stop it."

"Stop what?"

Castiel didn't elaborate. Instead, he reached down toward Dean's forehead.

Dean felt the Seraph's grace bursting out, flooding the room and enveloping him in a gentle, careful hold. His stomach dropped because it meant something was about to happen. "Whoa, wai—!" Castiel's fingers touched his forehead before he could finish.

There was a split-second feeling of displacement, and then Dean plopped down on a hard wooden bench, his leather jacket landing on top of his lap. Castiel's grace retreated, leaving him god knows where. Somewhere outside. In the middle of an unfamiliar town. With a passing cop eyeing him suspiciously.

"Awesome," Dean muttered as he looked around, trying to see anything specific that would help to identify the location.

Something was off with this town, but he couldn't quite put a finger on what was amiss. He fumbled through the pockets of his jacket and pulled out his phone.

No reception. Double awesome. Also, very weird.

There was a diner across the street. Dean threw the phone back into the pocket, pushed himself off the bench, and walked to that diner to get his bearings.

The moment he entered, his eyes immediately fell on the person sitting at the counter and reading a newspaper.

Michael had only one true vessel—the one he was occupying right now—but there were other humans, other vessels who could hold his power for a short time in case of emergency. He knew all of his past and future potential vessels, their names and dates of births imprinted into his memory the same way as the list of prophets was.

Recognizing one of those potential vessels was as easy as breathing.

Time travel. A freaking angelic DeLorean. "You must be kidding me…" Dean groaned as he all but collapsed into a free seat right next to one John Winchester.

"Are you okay, buddy?"

Dean turned to look at his dad who was staring at him, his curious expression tinged with a bit of concern. His very young human dad. "Yeah, just…" he trailed off, lifting his hand to massage his nose bridge. "Got pranked."

"Sounds tough," John commented.

"Younger sibling," Dean replied in an annoyed grumble. "Such a pain in the ass."

A soft smile spread across Winchester's face before he looked to the other side and waved to get the attention of the barista. "Hey! Can we get coffee here?"

Dean couldn't suppress a smile of his own when the smell of coffee filled his nostrils. "Thanks, man," he said before taking a sip. "I really needed this."

"You're welcome," John answered, going back to reading the newspaper.

Dean glanced at it, quickly zeroing in on the date. April 30, 1973. And just like that, he could guess pretty well what he was supposed to be stopping.

All these important dates were already predetermined from the beginning of time, the moment God thought that the Apocalypse would be a cool experience for his children. They were weaved into the very existence of time itself, thus, like a little obedient bitch, it would twist, curve, bend, and do anything to make it happen.

It was one thing to try and derail one of these upcoming destined events—like the Apocalypse—yet an absolutely different ordeal once they had already happened. It was nearly impossible to change them then. And even if someone managed to do it, dire consequences would follow their actions. The past couldn't be changed all willy-nilly. Unless they were ready to carry the responsibility of a complete collapse of the known future, no one should be meddling with the flow of time.

Mary Winchester's deal with Azazel was one of these fixed points in history. Dean was positive that none of the angels were ready to destroy their current reality, so why the hell Castiel dropped him here with the orders to do exactly that?

This situation stunk. Dean wanted nothing to do with it. Despite his reluctance, he begrudgingly slinked after his dad when John left the diner.

As he rounded the corner, he almost bumped into Castiel who popped out of nowhere. "Is this," Dean motioned at the world around them, his frustration over the stupidity of his siblings peaking, "your revenge for me not being in a sharing mood over my dreams?"

The angel's brow furrowed. "No," he replied. "I told you. You have to stop it."

"Uh-huh," Dean scoffed. "Watch Back to the Future, man. Is changing the past really a good idea? Wouldn't it, I don't know, destroy the future we know?" He pinned the angel with a hard, suspicious glare. "Is that the plan you angels are cooking?"

"No, it's—" Castiel cut his denial off, jaw tightening.

Dean waited, but got no explanation. Huh. Castiel was ordered not to tell him anything then. Sending him to stop something unstoppable? And with no information whatsoever on top of that? What a bunch of dicks, seriously.

"Besides," Dean continued, "if this thing is so important that you can bend the time, why can't you stop it yourself?"

Castiel opened his mouth, but then closed it again. Dean raised an eyebrow, curious to hear the answer. As a deep scowl crossed the angel's face and he turned his eyes away from Dean, the latter smirked. What a cute little sibling who didn't know how to lie. It was downright endearing.

"I cannot interfere," Castiel finally declared in a no-nonsense tone. "This is your mission."

Dean rolled his eyes, not impressed. "Right."

They glared at each other for a moment.

"Well, whatever," Dean said cheerily, clapping Castiel over his shoulder as he brushed past him. "I'm gonna stop it. Whatever that is."

They never told him what he was supposed to be stopping. Dean snorted. Idiots. Leaving such a loophole for him to use. Now, he only needed to find something to stop—

In a car lot of a dealership, his dad was excitedly petting some kind of dull yellow-colored chubby monstrosity of a van.

Dean froze mid-step, all thoughts screeching to a halt. The terrifying image of him and Sam sitting in the back seats of that thing instantly flashed before his eyes. A shiver ran down his spine. "Oh, hell no," he muttered under his breath, changing direction without a second thought.

That he was stopping. At all costs.

Dean crossed the street and quickly glanced over the lot as he approached John. One car stood out above the others, and he smiled, fondness curling around his eyes. Even with the layer of dust coating her black sleek form, his Baby was as gorgeous as ever. How could his dad pass her for that horrendous van was beyond him.

"You're not planning to let your future kids ride in that thing, are you?" Dean asked as he leaned on Baby.

John swiveled around startled. "Well, I promised someone…" he trailed off before squinting in suspicion. "Are you following me?"

"Nah, I was just passing by. Let me repay the favor for that cup of coffee earlier." Dean tapped the Impala's hood. "This is the car you want." Not waiting for a reply, he pushed himself off the car and expertly hefted the hood up.

"Oh, yeah? You know something about cars?" John asked curiously, already peeking over the man's shoulder.

"My dad taught me everything I know. And this is a great car." Dean flashed a grin. "I can guarantee that you won't regret buying it."

Half an hour later Dean was lounging on the street bench with his arms dropped across the backrest frame, observing John Winchester maneuvering Impala out of the parking lot and speeding up along the street before it rounded a corner and disappeared out of view.

Dean made no move to follow.

Instead, he heaved a heavy sigh of relief, closed his eyes for a moment, and said, "Thank god, the crisis had been averted."

He would be lying to himself if he said he didn't want to follow John. He did, very much so. He wanted to stop his mother's deal with Azazel, to stop Azazel from corrupting Sam and from killing his mom, to stop his dad from becoming a hunter, to give Sammy a chance at normal life as a lawyer with Jess and kids and white picket fence. He wanted all that and more, but no matter what he did, no matter how much he banged his head against the wall, the outcome would always be the same. So, he would rather not see his dad and mom, happy and alive, lest he decided to be stupid and try anyway.

Maybe if he was only Dean and didn't have his original memories of Michael, he would do it. Tried to change it. No, there was no doubt that he would do it. And he would have ended up crushed, because he would have failed.

It would work in heaven's favor if Dean Winchester was broken, guilt-ridden, and compliant once he had to say 'Yes' and relinquish his rights to his body. And seeing his mom making a deal with the demon and consequently selling his brother to the bastard, would certainly hit him hard.

Not that it mattered now. He couldn't say 'Yes' to himself anyway. Obviously, the angels didn't know that. And Dean had no intention to reveal it anytime soon if he could help it.

As he was thinking, he absent-mindedly looked around. What should he do until Castiel came to pick him up?

The advertisement column caught his attention. Or more precisely, one specific poster. Dean's mouth stretched into a huge grin.

The douchebag ordering Castiel around wanted to crush his confidence, to break anything that was left of Dean Winchester after the Hell. Bad news for the douche, he was messing with the wrong person.

Dean jumped to his feet, full of eagerness. He glanced at the poster again, and his grin widened even more.

LED ZEPPELIN
FRI. MAY 4-8 P.M.
ATLANTA STADIUM
GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!

"This will be awesome!"

Dean hung out around Lawrence for a few days doing nothing in particular, but painting a pretty decent picture of the hunter trying to figure out the hunt. He was cut off from the angelic mental connection while in the past, but judging by the lack of angels popping in, he was pretty confident that he had fooled them.

Which was weird. Angels should have known what happened in the past, should have known that Dean wouldn't cooperate with their scheme. They left him alone anyway.

Well, he certainly wouldn't complain about it.

Dean got excited more and more as the date of the concert drew closer. A chance to see one of his favorite bands in live performance certainly didn't come often, not in his life. He hyped himself up till he practically glowed with excitement. A day before the concert, he jumped into the stolen car and put Lawrence in his rearview mirror.

Dean was halfway to Atlanta when night fell. A blackness, thick as velvet, engulfed the world and it shrunk to the boundary of the car's headlights, rolling down the road. Quiet music filled the inside of the car, like waves filling holes in beach sand. The sound floated from the radio and weaved around him, lulling him into a peaceful state without any thoughts in his head. There was only music, the road, and his fingers drumming on the wheel along the rhythm.

Dean always loved driving, traveling the roads like endless rivers of tarmac stretching into the horizon in front and behind as far as the eye could see or disappearing into the forest only a few meters ahead while no one could tell where it might take weary travelers to. He was enjoying this too.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

Dean almost jumped out of his skin at the unexpected voice. The car swerved dangerously and careened onto the dirt shoulder, but he corrected it quickly and expertly. His heart was still pounding a mile a minute as he glanced at Castiel, sitting innocently in the passenger's seat and staring at him, his vessel's deep blue eyes boring straight into his soul.

"Jesus, Castiel!" Dean exclaimed before taking a deep breath and letting it out, calming himself. "You want to scare me to death?"

"I do not wish you harm."

"Yeah? Well, tell that to my heart," Dean grumbled. He shot a glance at the angel again when he felt his intense gaze prickling on his skin. "What's up, buddy?"

"What are you doing, Dean?" Castiel repeated.

"What am I doing?" Dean beamed. "I'm going to the Led Zeppelin's concert, of course!"

The angel was still staring, with his brow furrowed this time. His wings were restless behind him: shifting, spreading out, then folding again.

He looked so utterly lost, Dean felt a pang of guilt. He shooed it away. "Hey! I did what you asked me to," he stated confidently. "I stopped it."

Castiel seemed even more puzzled. "You did?"

"Yeah." Dean chuckled. "Imagine me and Sammy growing in that big ass, ugly van? Not happening. Ever."

"That…" Castiel paused, then continued a bit more hesitantly, "…was not what you had to stop."

"Seriously? Ah, well, tough luck."

The angel stared, palpable confusion rolling off of him in waves. After a few minutes, he turned forward and watched the road stretching in front of the car, his pose as stiff as a board.

The music filled the air once more as the two of them traveled in silence. Thinking about the concert tomorrow, Dean unconsciously grinned.

"You are in a good mood," Castiel commented.

Dean let out a short, happy laugh. "It's Led Zeppelin, man! Led Zeppelin!"

Another few minutes passed in silence.

A soft sigh left Castiel's lips. "I am sorry, Dean."

"Sorry? What for?"

Already familiar grace filled the car and wrapped around him.

Dean knew all too well what it meant. "Wait!" he shouted, only to feel fingers touching his forehead. Another brief feeling of displacement and he was met with a view of the empty motel room instead of the stretching road ahead. He blinked, swept his hand across his face before letting it drop back to his side.

Still the motel room.

"Son of a bitch!"

"You misunderstood your mission."

Dean turned around. Castiel stood at the window, looking outside. Headlights of a passing car lit his face for a moment, making his pensive expression appear gloomier.

"Well, my apologies for failing your friggin mission," Dean snarked, feeling miffed. He was looking forward to that concert, dammit!

Castiel showed no reaction to his sarcasm. "You couldn't have stopped it anyway," he said quietly. "Destiny cannot be changed."

"Ha!" Dean scoffed. He did wonder why Castiel told him that. Wasn't he under orders not to tell him anything? "Then it's a good thing I didn't try to stop it, huh?"

"You needed to learn the truth," the angel said, finally turning to look at Dean. "The truth about your brother."

"Why don't you just tell me then?"

"To save your father's life, your mother made a deal with Azazel, permitting him to enter her home. Once there, he fed his blood to your brother." Castiel paused, but Dean stayed silent. "You have to understand, Azazel was not a common demon."

Dean let out a snort. Of course, he wasn't. He was once an angel, after all. A Chief of Grigori who followed Lucifer when the latter was cast out of Heaven. Eventually, corruption twisted and perverted the beautiful divine being into a macabre parody of itself, but his loyalty to the fallen Archangel never died.

The blood also wasn't the only thing he fed to all those human babies. He fed them a drop of his corrupted grace.

"Yeah, I realize that," Dean replied.

A touch of sympathy passed Castiel's features as if Dean realized nothing. "We know what Azazel did to your brother, but we don't know why, or what his endgame is. He went to great lengths to cover that up." Castiel shifted, his wings making a sharp twitch. "Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we are not sure where it leads. You need to stop it. Or we will."

Dean's patience snapped. He already felt aggrieved because some douchebag decided to throw him into the past to do the impossible, and now they wanted to threaten him by threatening Sam?

He straightened up, drawing himself up to his full height, keeping his grace under tight control. It still twirled and blazed like a raging fire, spreading warmth across his chest. In a few strides, Dean was right in front of the angel, seemingly looming over him, eyes flashing in his fury.

Castiel didn't move away, didn't even look away, his expression didn't change a bit, but his wings folded closer to his body, almost as if yielding to someone stronger.

"Nobody threatens my brother," Dean said, low and menacing. "Not even the angels."

For a few moments, they stood like that, face to face, eyes locked in mutual stare down.

Castiel was the first to break the silence with a soft, "425 Waterman."

An address. Probably, Sam's current location.

Because they wanted him to see what Sam was turning into. As if it didn't align with their plan all along. These manipulative bastards!

This reminded him of that moment a long time ago when Father told Michael to watch what Lucifer had become after his banishment from Heaven before He ordered him to throw his brother into the Cage.

The similarity made him sick.

With a sneer, Dean turned around to grab his gun from the bed. At the sound of fluttering wings, he glanced over his shoulder to see Castiel gone. He pushed his gun behind his back, grabbed Impala's keys, and left the motel.

The first thing Dean noticed as he drove into the yard of the address Castiel gave him was an expensive car parked next to some shabby building with high windows and a rusty aluminum roof. Probably some not yet completely abandoned warehouse.

He parked farther away from the exit to not alert those inside. Climbing out of the Impala, he swept the area with his senses, noting Sam's presence with two demons next to him.

With the last measuring glance around, Dean jogged towards the door. Putting his hand on the rusty metal, he muffled the inevitable creaking with his powers and carefully pushed the door open just enough for him to slip inside. Nobody noticed him entering: neither Sam nor Ruby or the demon, bound to the chair.

Sam oozed with power. Dark, savage, and destructive. It thrummed underneath his skin with the fresh dose of the demon blood pumping through his veins.

Every demon carried a bit of Hell with them. The vile, repulsive essence that slivered in between those broken, mangled remains of what once was a human soul. And that essence was exactly what Sam filtered out from the demon blood. It seeped into his flesh and bones, into every cell and molecule, until it settled down onto his soul, congregating around the spot where the fragment of Azazel's corrupted grace lay lodged into its surface like a hook. It split and scarred the outer layer of the soul, luring all the rot and taint to stuff itself in.

Of course, the amount of Hell's essence wasn't enough to tear his soul apart, to turn Sam into a real demon, but it sure was more than enough to weaken it and amplify the piece of corrupted angel's grace instead. Its tainted state allowed a pure human like Sam to borrow its powers, so that was what he did—channeled the power of the grace to smite demons. Only, it hadn't been strengthened enough to kill them.

Yet.

It had to be Sam, the one who would kill Lilith and break the last seal on Lucifer's prison.

Dean knew that. He was ready to give his all to stop it, because Sam didn't deserve to be a mere pawn in God's plan, didn't deserve to be jerked around by angels and demons alike.

But Lucifer was also his brother and he didn't deserve to be betrayed by his older brother the moment he needed him the most, didn't deserve to be locked away for eternity.

Dean felt so lost.

It didn't help that this situation reminded him so much of what happened back then. The sneaking around, the secrecy, the lies. Going behind his back.

After living as a human and experiencing emotions that the human soul could offer, Dean could recall seeing the signs, the changes in Lucifer's behavior, the gradual spiraling downwards until that moment when they clashed their swords, their wings flaring aggressively, and their powers colliding under the blanket of the storm. It was the one and only time when Heaven had been so ominous and unwelcoming, with siblings killing siblings under its darkened sky.

And Sam headed down the same path. Eventually, they would clash and, while their fight wouldn't be on such a grand scale as the fight between Michael and Lucifer, it would still echo that ancient conflict.

Dean and Sam were true vessels for Michael and Lucifer respectively. No wonder it was like history wanted to repeat itself.

And he couldn't go through that. Not again.

Dean leaned heavily to the side until his shoulder touched the wall and rubbed his eyes with his index and thumb, then pressed, making spots appear against the black of his vision. He opened them again just in time to see his brother turning around, supportive arms around the previously possessed man.

Sam froze when he saw Dean, eyes widening, and blurted out his name out of sheer surprise, "Dean." He carefully lowered the man down, so that he could lift his arms in a placating gesture. "Dean, this is…" he trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say. "Just hold on, okay? Let me explain."

Dean stayed silent, watching Sam. There was fear etched on his young features now. Some hurt, too. A little bit of guilt. But also, pride and self-righteousness. He saw Sam's mouth move, but he didn't hear his words, his mind busy with overlapping Sam with Lucifer.

Lucifer's expression was so hurt, yet still so prideful and self-righteous the moment Michael banished him from Heaven. And then, his grace radiated pain and betrayal when he eventually threw him into the Cage.

Dean sucked in a breath despite the sudden tightness in his throat. Cracks spread across his chest as if they were real, as if they could split open his ribs and pull out his heart to show the world all those ugly scars of guilt sitting like a blight on its surface.

He didn't want to think about it, denied himself thinking about it until now, but he would have to choose in the end, wouldn't he? To choose which brother he would side with, which one he would save.

"Dean?"

Sam stared at him, weary, confused, and maybe a little bit hopeful that his older brother would understand, and Dean couldn't stay here. Couldn't look Sam in the eyes. Not until he figured this out.

He pushed from the wall, spun on his heel, ripped the door open, and walked away without uttering a word.

"Dean, wait!"

He wasn't giving up on Sam. He definitely wasn't. But this hit a bit too close to home, and now he just… just needed a bit of time to think about it, to clear his head, to get his bearings.

"Dean!"

The Impala peeled out with a spray of dirt and gravel, leaving Sam behind alone in the yard.

"He did WHAT?!"

Castiel winced at the furious voice of his superior, but he still repeated what he just reported, "Dean Winchester erred to understand his mission and—"

"I heard you the first time!" Zachariah cut him off, abruptly standing up from his chair.

They were in the penthouse of a skyscraper that Zachariah took for his own usage together with his vessel. It sort of became the headquarters for all the angels deployed on Earth. Or, at least, the place where they reported to their superior and received further orders.

Castiel watched the elegantly suited figure starting to pace the room with barely concealed rage bubbling just below the manner of cool sophistication, the High Seraph's two pairs of gray wings raised and feathers ruffled in his great ire.

"That imbecilic hairless ape!" Zachariah yelled as he prowled back and forth along his work table. "That's what happens when ignorant soldiers like you make decisions on their own! No one told you to cleanse the soul of the Righteous Man, now, do they?" He paused to glare at the other angel, lips curled slightly into a sneer.

Castiel's bronze-colored wings pressed closer to his back. "No, Sir," he replied, making sure to keep his tone low and submissive.

Zachariah threw his arms up in frustration. "Just how stupid can you be! Just how stupid can that human be?! If Michael didn't need him—" He stopped talking and took a deep breath, reining his emotions in. His wings slowly returned to their relaxed position as he forced himself to calm down. "No matter," he said, smoothing down the imaginary creases in his expensive suit. "There are other ways to make him do what we need him to do." A smile broke across his vessel's face, splitting his skin into something wicked. Zachariah sat down in his chair again and looked up at Castiel, scowling as if surprised that the young angel was still there. "I thought you had seals to protect?"

Castiel dipped his head in respect, immediately departing and landing neatly right into the empty passenger's seat in Dean's car. He kept himself hidden this time, invisible to the human's eye. Slightly tilting his head to the side, he stared at the man. He still had a hard time identifying human expressions, but even he could see that Dean looked incredibly sad at the moment.

Castiel didn't know why he felt the sudden compulsion to comfort this human, but his two left wings arched around Dean like it was the most natural thing to do.

It was strange.

From the moment he cradled the broken soul of the Righteous Man and the latter held onto him with extreme desperation, he realized that he wanted to protect Dean. To love and cherish him, just like his Father once told them to do.

Dean's soul was nothing like he had expected a human's soul to be. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, but all the taint and corruption threatened to extinguish its light. He couldn't let it happen. Instead, he wanted to see it thrive and shine in all its brilliance.

Taking the sinner's taint into himself, cleansing the soul of the Righteous Man was an impulsive decision, a whim. He got punished for his actions, yet Castiel couldn't muster a single drop of regret. He would do it again if he had a choice.

Gradually, Dean relaxed under the comfort of his wings, some of that profound sadness flitted away into peacefulness. Castiel preened, chest swelling at the accomplishment.

Zachariah's words came to his mind. What would Michael need Dean for? Yes, he was the one who could stop the Apocalypse being the one who started it, but Castiel somehow doubted that this was the reason.

Could Dean be Michael's true vessel?

That thought startled the young Seraph, and he squinted at the human, scrutinizing his profile with extreme intensity. It would explain why he felt so strange around him. Archangel's vessels were special by themselves, and with such a strong and vibrant soul like Dean's, no wonder Castiel felt such a great presence in the Righteous Man.

The first Archangel, the oldest of all creation, was revered by all the angels, his strength and beauty known throughout Heaven, and his name was always spoken with a mixture of reverence and adoration. Though Castiel had never met his eldest brother face to face, he had glimpsed him from afar, and even at a distance, the sheer aura of his presence had filled him with awe.

At that one brief moment in the motel room, it seemed as if Michael himself stared him down. Dean's presence was many times weaker, but nonetheless similarly magnificent and demanding respect.

The distress call from the team engaging Lucifer's followers for the seal caught Castiel off guard. With a last glance at Dean, he moved his wings away from the man and took off to help his siblings.

Dean shivered out of nowhere as if someone removed the warm and comforting blanket from around his shoulders. He looked around the car, baffled, then shrugged, pushing it out of his mind. Leaning towards the glove compartment, he pulled out his cassette collection and picked one of Led Zeppelin's tapes.

The road ahead to the possible location of his grace piece was too long for Dean to wallow in his own thoughts, so as the music filled the air, he let it wash all of it away.

A/N

I didn't make up the Led Zeppelin concert that Dean wanted to visit in this chapter. It was a real concert, the opening show of the US tour that drew nearly 40,000 fans. I even copied the poster text from the real one :)