Chapter X

A Town on the Brink

"Dear God, Jesus, and, uh, Michael, Gabriel, and whatever else your names are, please look after me this evening, because I have a date with Maddie and I don't want to mess it up. She's one of the most popular girls in our class, absolutely gorgeous, and I've been a virgin for seventeen years, y'know. So, please, make this date work… Amen."

Dean burst into laughter just as he opened the door to their motel room. Ever since he got his ability to hear prayers back, he shoved those whispers into the back of his mind and ignored them most of the time. The same as he did with the mental communication of the angels.

But every now and then, a genuine prayer would slip through to the forefront of his consciousness. Like this gem here. That kid really wanted to get laid, huh.

"What's so funny?" Sam asked, not even looking up from an open book in front of him.

Dean tossed his car keys onto the dining table as he replied, "I recently learned that angels can hear prayers, so just had the funniest thought."

This time, Sam spared him a suspicious glance. "Dare I ask?"

Still grinning, Dean plopped down onto the bed. "Imagine some desperate, hormonal teen praying to them to get laid."

A beat of silence for a solid two seconds. "Yeeeah," Sam drawled. "Because that's totally what a prayer is for."

"Hey, man, sometimes people wish for divine intervention for the stupidest reasons," Dean pointed out. It might have sounded absurd to the ears of others, but he had heard all kinds of prayers during his eons-long existence. Starting from silly, innocent ones from children to utterly deranged ones that religious fanatics liked to send.

"As if an angel's gonna show up just to be some kid's celestial wingman even if the kid prayed for it," Sam said with a little disbelieving shake of his head.

Dean couldn't help but grin again. That was exactly what this kid hoped for. "We even have angels fluttering around now, maybe one of them out there would take up this mission and then say…" He set his features into a haughty expression, chin up, brows knitted, and lips pursed, then extended his hand with fingers splayed toward Sam, and declared with as much grandeur as he managed, "Fear not, child, for I shall bless thee with a carnal union."

A laughter bursting out from Sam seemed like an accident, because a moment later, it morphed into an exasperated groan. Rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to get rid of the lingering amusement, he muttered, "I bet if you were an angel, you'd take this kind of mission."

Dean considered it for a moment before shrugging.

Sam couldn't help but laugh again.

Dean's expression softened, warmth spreading across his chest. Seeing Sam laugh, genuinely laugh, was a rare sight these days. Every damn day, Dean wished he could spend more moments like this with his brother, hold onto that fragile happiness just a little longer without the weight of demons, witches, or the looming end of the world pressing down on them.

"Wait." Sam perked up and narrowed his eyes at Dean. "Did you pray for that when you were a teenager?"

"Dude!" Mock-offended, Dean placed a hand over his heart. "Please, like I ever needed divine assistance for that."

At the sight of such an unbashful display of confidence, Sam rolled his eyes so hard he might have seen the back of his skull.

"Besides, praying was always your thing, but you must not have prayed hard enough, because you never got laid back then."

Sam shot him his most brilliant bitch face, which only made Dean grin wider. "Anyway," he said after a moment. "What did you find out?"

Sam exhaled, his annoyance fading as he shifted into serious mode. "Well, we're definitely dealing with a witch. And not just some wannabe tossing cheap curses around. A hex bag like this," he gestured toward the hex bag's content on the table, "it's more juice than we've ever dealt with before."

Dean eyed the ingredients, a feeling of suspicion tingling at the back of his mind. Something about this setup felt familiar, something he should remember, but for the life of him, he couldn't quite recall what it was.

"What about you? Find anything on the victim?" Sam asked when he heard no comments.

Dean shook his head and reached for one of the objects—a small, worn coin. He lifted it between his fingers, inspecting it closely. "Nope. The guy was so vanilla he made vanilla seem spicy. No enemies, no shady business. Nothing that screams 'hex me'."

Running a hand through his hair, Sam sighed and leaned back on the couch. "So we're at a dead end, then."

Dean hummed in response, still studying the coin. Something about the engravings caught his eyes, scratching at a distant memory, but so frustratingly out of reach. He squinted. Where did he see it? What was it—Wait. "…Is this Celtic?"

"Yeah. Seems legit, too. Like, six hundred years old legit," Sam replied as he raised a curious eyebrow. "What about it?"

Dean's hold tightened around the coin as realization hit him. That was it. The puzzle pieces snapped into their places in an instant. Halloween. A powerful witch. A six-hundred-year period. A first sacrifice three days before Halloween.

Someone was summoning Samhain.

"Sam," he said, his voice lower now, more urgent. "I don't think we're dealing with a grudge here."

Reacting to his sudden change in tone, Sam straightened up. "What do you mean?"

"Halloween started as a Celtic festival, right? The time of year when the boundary between the living and the dead thins out. A night of demons, blood sacrifices, and ancient rituals." Dean flipped the coin between his fingers, drawing Sam's attention to it. "And now we've got an old-ass Celtic coin, popping up in a witch's hex bag? Feels like too much of a coincidence, don't you think?"

Sam furrowed his brow, lips thinning as he considered the possibility. "So… you think the witch's working a spell?"

Dean nodded. He schooled his expression into something neutral that wouldn't betray his knowledge that he shouldn't have. "Maybe trying to summon something?" he wondered, glancing at Sam to check if he caught on to the hint he threw out. "Timing like this? Wouldn't be surprising."

"But summon what?"

"Dunno." Dean shrugged, playing it cool. "But we should look into ancient Celtic harvest rituals. See if anything jumps out."

Sam still looked skeptical, but after a moment, he conceded, "Well, it's as good a lead as any."

As his brother stood up to prepare to leave, Dean stared at the hex bag on the table. The longer he stared, the more he began seeing something entirely different—one of many possible keys to the locks on Lucifer's prison. He undid the first lock in Hell, even if unknowingly, and now he held another key in his hands.

If Samhain would rise, another seal would break.

Dean wondered how many were already broken. How close Lucifer was to his freedom. How long till the possibility of seeing him again.

"You coming?" Sam called from the door.

With a huff, Dean shook the last thought out of his head. He would do what he could, and that would be enough. "Yeah, I'm coming."

Two days, two innocent victims. And the witch was still out there, gunning for the third.

Even with his newly awakened angelic senses, Dean failed to find that bastard. Whoever it was, they used some seriously heavy-duty shielding spell. That alone raised questions. Most witches weren't this careful unless they had a damn good reason to hide. Did they know about the seals? This knowledge was restricted, angels took care of that. Besides them, demons and a handful of hunters were in the loop, but the rest of the world? Clueless.

Which might have meant one of two things. Either a demon was working with the witch or worse, one of the Fallen, an angel who abandoned Heaven by choosing to follow Lucifer instead. Many were hunted down after Lucifer got locked in the Cage, but some remained, went into hiding, and were now emerging to welcome him back.

A knock jolted Dean from his thoughts. His head snapped toward the Impala's passenger window, where Sam stood, eyebrow raised and a mute question of why he was sitting there on his face.

"You good?" Sam asked as Dean climbed out of the car, falling into step beside him as they headed toward their motel room.

"Yeah, yeah. Just thinking," Dean muttered, brushing it off before changing the topic. "Did you find Tracy?"

Sam let out a frustrated sigh. "Not a single trace."

"No luck with her friends either. No one knows where she'd gone. It's like she hopped on a broom and vanished." Dean rubbed a hand down his face. "Maybe she's got backup. A second witch. Or maybe a demon. Witches sometimes work with those suckers."

Sam mulled it over. "Could be," he agreed. "But she's still our only lead, and she's planning a third sacrifice that could happen anytime."

Dean shot him a flat look. "Yeah, thanks, Captain Obvious," he quipped as he unlocked their motel room door.

The moment it opened, he froze. He knew the room wasn't empty. Felt their presence before he even laid eyes on them.

The angels.

So heavily cloaked that his angelic senses didn't even react until they were right next to him. As if hiding from someone. Or something.

While the second angel was currently out of sight, Castiel was visible from the doorway. Perched on the edge of the bed with his hands clasped in front of him, he stared vacantly into the distance.

Because Dean was blocking the entrance, Sam stopped right behind him. "Dude, why—" he cut himself short the moment he saw someone in their room, going on full alert. "Who are—?!" And then immediately fell silent, his handgun half-pulled out, when he recognized the angel. A quiet, "Oh," left his mouth. His expression brightened, anticipation with a tinge of amazement taking over. "Oh, my god," he uttered in sheer awe as he shoved past Dean into the room.

Castiel rose to his feet to meet him.

Dean rolled his eyes and closed the door. What a simp.

Realizing what he blurted out, Sam fumbled through his embarrassment, "Er, uh, I didn't mean to… sorry." Then he extended his hand, all flustered and star-struck. "It's an honor, really, I-I wanted to tell this the first time we met."

Dean almost laughed out loud when he turned around and saw Castiel gawking at Sam's extended hand as if it was the most confusing thing in the universe. Quite possibly it was his first time someone asking him for a handshake.

As Dean stepped deeper into the room, the second angel he had sensed came into view.

The angel stood by the window, back turned to the rest of them, unmoving. But Dean recognized him immediately.

Uriel. One of Raphael's angels. A member of his personal squad.

Dean's frown deepened.

And one of Raphael's personally trained purging specialists.

His presence here was not a good sign.

Deciding to ignore Uriel for now, Dean turned his attention back to Sam and Castiel. The latter was in the middle of what looked like his first successful handshake, but that wasn't what caught Dean's eye. His gaze drifted past the young Seraph's shoulders, taking in the sight he couldn't see clearly before regaining the second piece of his grace.

Castiel's wings.

Four pairs of wings rested tightly folded against his vessel's back. Bronze-colored feathers shimmered under the dim light, streaked with lighter threads of almost gold. But among them, nestled between the healthy plumes, laid blackened, decaying feathers with mangled, split vanes, and dark ooze seeping from their rachis, clinging to his wings like wounds.

Dean knew exactly what that was.

The corruption. The taint. The essence of Hell, burning through Castiel's grace like a festering disease. He had seen it before—how it spread, how it twisted the grace, rotting away at what an angel used to be until nothing but a perverted version of their former selves remained.

An angel's wings were more than just a part of their being. They were their connection to Heaven, to the higher planes, to the very fabric of the Universe itself. Through them, they could cleanse their tainted grace, shed the filth in the form of molting feathers. That was why the ones who followed Lucifer out of Heaven couldn't be restored. Their connection had been cut and so they had to live with the corruption, the consequences of their own choices.

Dean's jaw tightened as his gaze flicked back to Uriel.

Unlike Castiel's, his cream-colored wings were pristine, gleaming with smooth, immaculate plumage. Not a single speck of black. No sign of battle scars, no traces of Hell's touch.

If Uriel had been part of the siege of Hell, not to mention being on the frontlines, he had never even set one foot inside.

Not surprising.

Raphael wouldn't waste his trusted soldiers in a battle like that. He would have sent only the ones he deemed expendable.

Dean's stomach twisted, a cold, uncomfortable feeling settling in his gut. He glanced at Castiel again, at the damage he had willingly taken just to pull him out of the Pit. It went beyond the mere duty of an angel.

Sudden anger simmered just below his skin, but he pushed down this wrath that ignited inside his chest, forced his expression into something lighter, and topped it with a casual grin. "Cas, buddy," he said before the younger angel could even open his mouth, "You ever heard of knocking?"

Castiel blinked, caught by surprise either by a nickname, the affectionate manner he was being addressed, or a random question.

It was Uriel who replied, "We do not need permission to go where we please," with all the disdain and self-importance of an angel who had never once questioned his own authority.

Dean scoffed. "Maybe you should try it sometime—manners. Real crazy concept."

Uriel turned around, his lips pulled into a sneer and wings rising slightly in a clear display of power even if he knew that humans wouldn't see it. "You should show some respect, mud monkey," he said disdainfully. "We raised you from Hell, we can throw you back in."

Sam tensed beside him, but Dean wasn't fazed in the slightest. All bark and no bite. Considering that Uriel didn't even join the siege of Hell, didn't help to save the Righteous Man, his claim was all the more ridiculous.

He met Uriel's glare with a calm look, relaxed and utterly unconcerned, as if the angel's threat barely registered in his mind. "Respect is earned," he retorted easily. "But hey, next time? Bring a fruit basket, and I'll think about it."

All four of Uriel's wings shot up, stretching to their full span, and the sneer on his face darkened into something far more dangerous. The air in the room shifted into something heavy, charged, like a storm about to break.

"Dean…" Sam called out quietly, tugging at his sleeve. Even he could feel it now.

"Enough!" Castiel commanded. His voice cut through the tension, sharp as a blade, as he turned a pointed glare on his fellow angel.

Uriel hesitated for another moment, then flicked his wings down, and turned back to the window with an audible huff, making a show out of it. However, the tension in his frame made it clear he was anything but pacified.

"We need to talk," Castiel said.

"Yeah, I kinda figured." Dean jerked a thumb toward Uriel. "What's with Grumpy over there? He looks like he just sucked on a lemon."

Uriel stayed stiff, but his wings twitched in irritation.

Dean was starting to enjoy pissing him off.

"He didn't…" Castiel started, only to pause, his brow furrowing slightly. For a split second, he looked so confused, like he just tasted something sour himself. But whatever it was, he quickly pushed it aside, his face smoothing back into an unreadable mask. "We did not come here for idle chatter," he stated. "The raising of Samhain, have you stopped it?"

"We're working on it," Dean replied. "If you're asking, does it mean it's a seal?"

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. "Lucifer cannot rise. The breaking of the seal must be prevented at all costs." He fixed Dean with a grave gaze. "Is the witch dead?"

"No, but—"

"We know who it is," Sam interjected.

"Apparently, the witch knows who you are, too." Castiel moved toward the bedside table and lifted a small hex bag into the air. "This was inside the wall of your room. Had we not found it, surely one or both of you would be dead."

Dean's lips pressed into a thin line. He glanced at Sam, wondering if he had the same thought.

"Do you know where the witch is now?" Castiel asked.

"No, but we think there are either two witches or a demon helping," Dean said, looking back at the hex bag. "And you just gave us a clue about who it might be."

Castiel tilted his head. The angels probably didn't even consider that possibility. Or cared enough to consider.

Sam looked at him questioningly, but before he could say anything, Uriel cut in, his tone as cold and impersonal as ever, "No matter how many of them there are, they must be dealt with immediately."

It sounded final, in the way he said it, and Dean knew what was coming before the angel even opened his mouth again.

"It's too late for you to complete this task," Uriel continued as he finally turned back again and walked to stand in front of Dean, seemingly looming over him. "So we will do it for you."

Dean's teeth clenched.

Even Sam picked up on the real meaning of his words. His posture straightened, his hands curling into fists. "What do you mean by that?" he demanded.

"This town will be purged."

Silence. The declaration hung suspended in the air like an executioner's blade, weighty and absolute.

Deep inside him, Dean's grace bristled at the casual way Uriel spoke about mass destruction and slaughter, but he reined it in, leashed it with the last drop of his patience. But when he spoke, his voice was lower, edged with something intense, "You mean, wiped off the map."

"It is necessary," Uriel said, completely unbothered.

"Like hell it is!" Dean exploded.

"There are a thousand people here," Sam whispered, his eyes wide in disbelief.

"One thousand two hundred fourteen."

"And you're willing to kill them all?!"

"This isn't the first time I've… purified a city." The corners of Uriel's lips curled up at his selection of words. He also acted so blasé about it, that Sam was rendered speechless.

Dean's focus snapped to Castiel. "Come on, Castiel." He sounded on the brink of pleading, even to his own ears, but he had to hear that at least this little sibling wasn't ready to unleash such carnage without regrets. "Do you also think torching a whole town is the way to go?"

Castiel hesitated, his eyes flicking to the side. And because of that little sign, that pause was enough to tell Dean what he needed to know.

Castiel didn't like this any more than they did.

But orders were orders.

"It is not our decision," Castiel said at last, looking resolutely into Dean's eyes. "It is Heaven's will."

Dean sucked a breath in, running a hand down his face. What made him even more frustrated was the fact that he wouldn't have questioned it before either. "Yeah, well, Heaven's will sucks," he muttered, because it did from his perspective.

Uriel's wings spread out again in an intimidating display of fury, but this time even his grace burst out, filling the surroundings with raging, unchained power. He stepped closer and practically growled into Dean's face, "Watch yourself, boy."

Everyone in the room stilled.

Uriel's glare was heavy, seething, like he would love nothing more than to smite Dean where he stood. However, Dean didn't flinch or back down, but met it head-on, unwavering. Almost challenging, but not quite. In the past, he had stared down beings far greater than Uriel. He had commanded them. That this little thing tried to intimidate him was laughable.

And for the briefest fraction of a second—just a flicker—there was nothing human in Dean's gaze. Just an echo of something else.

Then, he blinked, and it was gone.

But what wasn't gone was the shift in his demeanor. Subtle. Untraceable. Not supernatural, not anything obvious, but… something that whispered to the deepest, primal instincts that the angels couldn't name or understand.

Finally, Dean spoke.

"No."

No threat. No raised voice. No enforcing action.

And yet, the weight of that single word fettered both angels in place.

"You're not wiping this town off the map," Dean continued steadily, his presence a calm, immovable force. "We're handling this. And you're not gonna lift a damn finger against these people."

It seemed like the time stopped for half a second, hanging in the deathly silence.

"You're wasting our time, mud monkey!" Uriel's roar cracked through the air like a whip, thick with fury. His wings flared as high as possible and his grace flooded the room, shaking the air itself. The walls almost seemed to bend under the weight of its power. "Castiel! I will not let these—"

"That's enough, Uriel!" Castiel interrupted him, his cold, commanding tone giving no space for opposition. Not just an order. It was an admonishment that he was stepping out of the line.

Uriel's lips pulled into a snarl, but he kept his mouth shut. With a sharp flurry of unseen movement and the soft rustling of wings, he was gone.

Stillness settled between the remaining people in the room.

Castiel turned, his gaze locking onto Dean's. Something unreadable flickered in those blue eyes, something like uncertainty, doubt, and then, consideration. Though Dean couldn't quite understand who or what those emotions were directed at.

"I suggest you move quickly," Castiel spoke. Then, softer added, "Do not make me regret this, Dean."

Dean smirked. "Wouldn't dream of it, Cas."

He used the nickname previously unintentionally, it simply slipped out. But this time it came naturally, rolling off his tongue like it belonged there. Just like 'Sammy' did.

Castiel didn't react to it this time, but didn't correct him either. Just held his gaze for a moment longer before nodding, and then disappeared in the blink of an eye.

Sam exhaled, his shoulders slumping as the tension bled from his body, and murmured, "I can't believe that worked."

Dean hummed in agreement, but to him, this result felt inevitable.

Sam stared at him, a crease forming between his brows. His voice took on a sharper edge, something bordering on confrontational when he asked, "You really aren't worried about the angels at all, are you?"

Dean shot him a questioning look. "Why would I be worried about the angels?"

Sam took a deep breath, like gearing up to deal with Dean being deliberately dense. "Dean." His name came out clipped, frustration threading through it. "They said they might throw you back into Hell. Maybe you shouldn't be provoking them so carelessly?"

Oh. So, that was what this was about. Sammy wasn't just concerned, he felt scared. Scared of losing his brother again.

Dean huffed, waving his hand dismissively as he said, "Nah, that won't happen." His tone was so casual it bordered on almost absurd. "The angels laid a damn siege on Hell to pull me out, you think they're gonna throw me back in just like that?"

"How do you know they laid a siege on Hell?"

Dean didn't even hesitate. "Castiel told me." How many times had he used that excuse? It worked, though. Not like Sam could ask the angel if he truly told him that. But then, something else clicked in his mind and his eyes narrowed. "How do you know?"

Sam fumbled, ducking his head slightly from Dean's sharp, assessing stare boring into him. "I've… heard around."

A weary sigh pushed itself out of Dean. He shook his head, muttering, "Ruby, huh."

Sam stiffened. "Dean, listen—"

Dean held his hand up as he passed him, already moving to the door. "No, it's fine." He wasn't angry or accusing, maybe a little miffed. He also wondered what kind of scheme the skunk was spinning by telling his brother that. "It's not exactly classified information. I guess I should've told you myself." He pulled the door open. "Doesn't really matter now. Let's go. We don't have much time left."

Sam's arms went up in helpless frustration before dropping back to his sides, but he didn't linger behind for too long and followed after Dean.

They had a witch to hunt and a town to save after all.

A/N

Dean's subtlety is through the roof, but, well, he does have his pride as Archangel Michael. He can't just let a little Chihuahua like Uriel push him around, now, can he?

Also, as you can see, I'll be skipping episodes that are more or less irrelevant to the main story, because, let's admit, this story will already be long as is and I'm a very slow writer (gotta finish it in 10 years at the very least, because someone threatened me with crossroad demon's deal, and I don't want their soul to hang on my consciousness /j xD). But, hey, if there are any specific episodes or scenes you want to see in this fic, tell me, and I might consider if I get any good ideas for it! On the same topic, which episode or scene are you excited to see in this fic?

As always, thanks for reading and commenting! Don't be afraid to leave any type of comment, I read and appreciate them all even if I don't usually have the spoons for replies ^^