Bend the Bracket 14
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16
-- -- --
Sam had never imagined how he'd get the Cage to open, or what would happen when he did. He simply thought about how stupid he was for trusting Lucifer but he couldn't help it, because he couldn't deny the honesty that pulsed through the grace in his chest. It almost hurt him to do it. But the instant he laid his right hand on the lock of the door, and wondered how, exactly, he was supposed find Death and ask to borrow his ring, the world seemed to surge around him. The things in the Cage had noticed him. The one that did not feel like Lucifer rattled the door, suffered a wound for it, and the fight raged on, louder than anything Sam had ever heard.
He was watching, worrying, fighting with himself over how he was supposed to unlock the Cage and what he would do if he managed that and what he would do if the whole thing turned out to be a ploy by the Devil to get free, when the metal simply gave way under his hand and the door swung inward.
So many things happened too quickly for him to follow, though his brain attempted to logically mash things into chronological order. The entirety of Hell trembled. There wasn't a soul that didn't feel it. Light drew first inward and then flew out at him, faster than he could really understand. His feet left the ground and he moved, caught up in that endless, tumultuous fury, lifted in a tender hold, wrapped up in impossible, terrifying power. It was like being strapped to a comet, except he didn't feel the hold of possession or the gag of a mind pressed over the top of his own or any of the other pitfalls he'd experienced before. It was like the moment just before sleep, when the cool nothing reached out and soothed his mind before it pulled him into dreams.
But there was anger, too, and thankfulness. And the fires of Hell were too slow to keep up with the speed of the fury as it carried him.
He never said the incantation, never breathed a single syllable. He never needed to. The Devil dragged him out of Hell like a well deserved bounty and slammed the door of the Cage like the lid of a coffin behind him.
There was no slow, gentle shift for Sam, no slipping back into his meat suit like a man slipping into his favorite pair of shoes. It happened just like everything else had, too fast and too forceful - a breath of air and his heart hammering too hard in his chest, shivers and muscle spasms and Dean leaning over him, too close. Sam felt far, far too hot in his skin, though he knew it was not a physical sensation.
He didn't feel the shock wave that followed his soul into the room, but he did hear the crash of the windows shattering, a slam of the bowl thrown from the table. The inanimate objects in the room leaped away from wherever they had been sitting and the walls groaned as if under a tremendous weight.
"Sam!" Dean's voice was very, very quiet, but he could still hear it, like a fuzzy tickle compared to the violence of a moment before.
It was still enough to make him open his eyes and let his brother pat him down, looking for new wounds, grabbing at his wrists. Eventually, he sat up which was somehow dizzying. There was blood everywhere - his arms, his sides, his legs, but he wasn't worried about it. Everything would be fine. It was like a promise. Everything would be perfectly, impossibly fine.
"I'm okay," Sam said, and he didn't think it was a lie, no matter how eagerly his brother was tugging at him to be sure he was safe. It wasn't until Dean had both of his wrists turned up for a better view that the commotion slowed, and Sam repeated himself, a little too tired to really care that the gashes had healed over as if by magic. "Really, I'm okay." He repeated, still not sure of himself.
"What the Hell just happened?" Dean demanded, as serious as he had ever been, his bravado cast aside like a coat. He looked, though, like he might already know.
Sam looked over his brother's shoulder at a figure he thought he recognized and tried to smile at Castiel. "Hey, Cas," He heard himself say. "Did Dean find you?" He asked, and realized that he had lost more blood than he'd hoped he would have, because he felt weak and chilled on the outside, even if the inside was still boiling. When Castiel just looked at him, trying to measure his surprise, Sam couldn't get up the gusto to do more than grin toothily at him.
"Sam, do not let him distract you. What happened?" Dean gave his wrists a little shake that pulled Sam's eyes to his brother's.
What he saw there was everything he'd hoped he wouldn't have to betray. Hope, fear, a desperate denial - it was all there, like Dean already knew. Because he had to. Everyone knew, every thing, whether they understood it or not. Sam didn't know where to begin to tell the story of the door sliding open or where to end it with the promise in his soul, but he knew what Dean did not want to hear and how he needed to say it.
"It was in the Cage, Dean. It was in there with Lucifer and Michael. And I just... I didn't know what to do, so I..." That part was a lie. Sam had made a decision to get close, to try to see if he could open the door, and maybe do it. "I just touched it, that's all. And the door just..."
"Lucifer is free." Cas intoned softly and pushed himself up on his feet, a little unsteady, shuffled closer. Without the trench coat he looked smaller. When he was standing just within Dean's personal space, he stopped, his eyes narrowed at Sam. "And you opened the door."
"Sam..." Dean began, like he wanted to launch into a lecture.
"It sort of fell in!" Sam tried to explain, but he really didn't want to go on. There wasn't a point defending his actions. And he and Dean were both suffering from blood-loss, he was sure. It simply was not the time to be fighting. With a sigh, Sam brought his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes for a moment, trying to scrub the exhaustion and the guilt off of his skin, which wasn't going to happen. What he needed was a quiet room to talk to Lucifer in, assuming they could still do that and the Devil would listen and hadn't run off to wherever now that he was free.
Dean held the lecture in but the words were still there, compressed like the explosion in a bottle-rocket. He looked at the demon and the girl at the far end of the room by the table and bit his lip for a moment before he spoke. "Thanks, but... I... I think we've got it from here." He said, maybe in an effort to get the two women to leave the room.
It didn't work.
"Who exactly is the bloody skinny guy and what happened with Lucifer?" Stephanie chimed, completely candid. For a girl that hadn't known about the existence of demons the day prior, she sure was willing to jump in.
"Castiel," Cas said lowly. "I... was an angel of the Lord."
"Was?" That came in stereo from Cassandra and Stephanie both.
"It is a long story. I don't think now is the best time to explain." He finally turned his accusatory gaze away from Sam and instead directed the look at Dean, who didn't meet it. "I am much more interested in hearing how it is that these two ended up in this room taking part in this... unholy act."
"Hey!" Cassandra protested. "They asked me how they could get into Heaven and Hell and they weren't being particularly picky about the means, asshole. You think I do this heavy bullshit for fun? Oh no. No, no. I corrupt people into cheating on their wives and stealing from their bosses, I don't... snatch the organs out of dead babies unless a hunter comes in here looking like they need something otherwise impossible to attain."
"Like Poseidon's trident," Sam offered.
"Did you get it?" Dean interjected.
"Oh, yeah. Pried it out Lucifer's fingers while he swept me out of Hell and crammed me back in body, Dean. I totally had the time."
Stephanie stomped her boot on the floor and raised her voice in a display of emotion that overshadowed every response she had had up until that point, her face flushed with frustration, her hands in fists at her sides. "Someone just tell what the Hell is going on! I don't give a shit about who opened what door or why the dirty looking guy isn't an angel. Just tell me..." She paused then and some of the tension ran out of her, like water from a strainer. Her head tilted to the side and her braid slid over her shoulder with the motion. She looked at Dean and then Cas before she spoke. "Why are the two of you so mad at each other? You're going to make up anyway, so why all the pent up aggression?"
It was fairly obvious that the words surprised her.
"What I meant," Stephanie went on, softer. "Is that I'm not leaving until someone explains to me what else is out there besides fallen angels and demons and apparently Lucifer and Poseidon."
For a moment the room fell into silence. The angel, the demon, the girl, and the hunters looked between each other, each with their own questions, more than half weighing their guilt. Sam could see that as angry as Cas was with the situation, he understood it, and he could see that as worried as Dean was that his brother had unleashed Hell on the world, he was not hopeless. That alone was enough to raise his spirits a little, even if the whole thing seemed far too complex to deal with, even one little issue at a time.
"Well, the ritual part is over so..." Sam broke the silence, and looked down at his perfect, unscarred wrists in an attempt to ignore the attention it got him. "How about the four of us get out of Cassandra's hair and grab a couple of beers and talk things over?"
"Sounds like a plan." Dean said too quickly. He wouldn't have been that fast to jump on the bandwagon if not for their hypocrisy, Sam knew. Dean didn't want to be in that room, surrounded by the evidence of their sin while Cas was with him, judging him in his quiet way.
Cassandra clapped her hands together and smiled like that was the best idea she'd ever heard. "Excellent plan! Now, if you three gentlemen would just get up and get out and try not to bleed on anything the clients might see, I'll take care of this mess and gladly never see you again. Except in passing. Preferably walking away." She gestured toward the door like a woman directing the flow of traffic. "And Stephanie, do feel free to stop by if you feel the need. I'm always willing to help grow talents and encourage their misuse."
"Right." Stephanie deadpanned.
Sam struggled to his feet and helped Dean do the same, though there was a moment when he worried that his brother didn't want to touch him, which hurt a little. When the two of them were finally up, he waved for a moment before Castiel took Dean's arm, which didn't keep Sam steady, but it did make their exit a little more graceful any way, made getting back into their shoes a little easier. They moved through the house like they knew they had worn out their welcome, and Stephanie walked behind like a ghost in their footsteps, perhaps bewildered or amused by the goings on, it was difficult to tell.
By the time they had piled into the car, Sam was not entirely sure it was a good idea to have Dean in the driver's seat, but it would be fine, because the promise was still there, burned into his soul, even if it had started to rain again.
"We've only got a motel room," Dean said, like it was something to be sorry about. "It isn't anything fancy."
"Screw fancy," Stephanie hissed, and it was enough to send them out into the road.
- - -
Dean realized that if it was beer they were after, they didn't have much of that at the motel, so he stopped off at the 7-Eleven and cajoled Stephanie into getting out and making the purchase for them. To start, Cas didn't have shoes, Sam looked like he'd murdered someone in an alley, and Dean was pretty sure that a broken arm wasn't going to be a decent enough pity card when his shirt was sticking to him with his own blood. Stephanie, at least, didn't take much convincing, and even picked up a fifth of whiskey when Cas commented on beer not being strong enough for the situation.
They didn't discuss things until he had taken up the same old parking spot and lead their motley crew into the motel room, which likely looked less like home to Cas and Stephanie than it did to him by now. There was still the heap of destroyed wicker chair in the corner, still booze on the nightstand, still a little spread of papers on the wall and on the table. The laptop was still closed, the bathroom door still open, just as they'd left it.
"At a glance, you two look like serial killers," Stephanie pointed out the state of Dean's bedding, which hadn't escaped staining when he'd taken the stab wound earlier in the week though he had at least changed the sheets, and then turned her attention to the papers pinned on the wall.
"Comes with the job description," Dean sank down on the bed and leaned on the wall, which might have been more comfortable than any couch, and twisted the lid from his beer. Bless the man that invented screw caps on alcoholic beverages; flip lids are not the friends of men with broken arms. "In this line of work you have to be emotionally scarred, physically fit, a good liar, and keep a room like a serial killer, or you're fired."
"Physically fit? Are you sure?" Stephanie cocked an eyebrow and took up a seat next to the laptop and the remaining wicker chair creaked under her weight. "That's beside the point. I want the three of you to be brutally honest with me for a moment. Would it be better for me to learn what has happened and try to help you, or get up and walk out that door and call a cab right now? You're all in over your heads. I'm well over my head - have been all this time. I can see things and I don't know if I want to understand them."
It was Cas that answered her, voice low, face frowning, from his post by the entryway. "You can see glimpses of the future." It wasn't a question.
"More like glimpses of the present and impressions of the future. I'm a crappy psychic."
The angel nodded, though he didn't comment or try to correct her.
Sam started to talk, to say something about how being in the know was both safer and more dangerous, but that this issue - letting Devil run loose out of Hell - was bigger than any of them, when Dean's phone rang. Which was good. Sam was better at the giving apologies about the world ending. It just wasn't Dean's forte. He kind of considered himself used to the shock of the apocalypse, which made being empathetic a little difficult.
It also didn't help that he needed to tell Sam that it was fine, they'd figure it out, nor that he needed to be alone in a room with Cas for an hour. To talk. And keep a promise he'd broken more than once, if Cas was willing.
Too soon to be thinking those thoughts and he knew it.
"Yeah?" He answered his phone and got up off the bed, waving the conversation on, while he shuffled himself toward the door. He had to step around Cas to get out.
"Please, please tell me you got the trident and didn't just let Lucifer out of Hell for shits and giggles." His phone said to him in a pleading tone. "Because I am really surprised the two of you got into Hell, and even more surprised you did the one thing you shouldn't have done while you were there."
"Hi, Nichole, yeah, I'm doing fine, thanks for asking," Dean growled. "And for your information, your husband's discostick was in the Cage with Lucifer. Sam just tapped the birdcage and the bird flew out - it's not like that was the plan."
"You sure about that?"
"What do you mean am I sure about that? Of course I'm sure. My brother might be crazy but he's not... trust Satan, crazy."
Nichole didn't say anything, but her sigh was enough.
Dean rubbed at his eyes with his right hand and wished that the day would just be over. He was too old and tired to be doing this. Even if it was only one in the afternoon, with scattered showers and birdsong lilting across the city, he really couldn't muster up more than obligatory guilt that maybe he and Sam had hammered another nail into the world's coffin. He wanted a beer. That was about the only difference since that morning.
"Look," he said. "It doesn't matter why or how it happened. We've got to deal with it, just like everything else. We can point fingers and call names and go back to killing each other when there's time for it, because we don't have the strength or the resources to fight that many battles." He didn't see so much as sense the movement of a person on the far side of the parking lot, and he watched the man get into a blue Oldsmobile, the act routine, like Dean wasn't leaning on the white paint of the motel wall, watching him, like Lucifer wasn't free, like the world wasn't at war. "It doesn't matter if it's Leviathans or Lucifer or friggin' fire giants, we fight until we can't fight anymore, then we talk crap until we're dead."
Nichole laughed softly, the sound ancient in a way that nothing else about her had ever been. When she spoke, there was a smile in her voice. "Alright. We'll call it a temporary alliance, until we at least find Lucifer. He's your problem, just so you know, not mine. I can fight Leviathan from dawn until dusk and maybe live, but the Devil is a different story."
Dean could deal with that. Even if it wasn't going to be as easy as watching Sam triple lindy into the Pit. "Fine. You're on bigmouths, we're on Satan. It's a start."
"Call me if things get gooey." Nichole instructed, and the line went dead in Dean's hand. Which was for the best. He couldn't make a sexual joke that way.
He turned to go back inside and the door opened before he could touch it, on the other side of it Stephanie was standing, her face drawn into a frown. "There are some things I need to pick up. I'll call you if anything crazy happens."
"You have my number?" Dean blinked.
"Sam shared."
He nodded. "What are you getting?"
"Borax, salt, maybe a gun. I'm driving back to Illinois. Wouldn't want to end up stuck on a plane with something, you know? Man, reality blows, you know that? Seriously. I could handle demons and magic, and stuff like that, but shape-shifters and ghouls and Lucifer walking the Earth?" She shook her head. "I don't even believe in God."
Dean felt his mouth twitch at that. He hadn't either, maybe he still didn't. It was a hard thing to do, considering all the evil in the world, but some people managed. "Yeah, well, just keep your head down if you can. Now's not the best time to join the field."
"I know," she stepped passed him and pulled her phone from her jacket, began to dial. "It's not the best time to be playing it, either, but you don't have to take my advice."
"Shut up." He didn't mean it. Without saying goodbye, he slipped back into the room and shut the door behind him.
- - -
Sam took his leave as soon as Dean got to the part in the lecture where they came to the same conclusion - it didn't matter if the door had fallen off of the hinges or Sam had kicked it open, they were still going to deal with the consequences. Together. Like always. After that, Sam took very little part in explaining to Cas how it was that they'd come to make a deal with Cassandra, because Dean seemed to be directing the regret train and he wasn't about to step up and try to wrest the controls away from him.
So Sam said a simple confession of guilt, offered his forgiveness if Cas was willing to forgive him, and walked out.
He hadn't thought it would be that easy, but it was. Cas was family, even if he wasn't blood. Sam was pretty sure Cas was punishing himself more over what he'd done than Sam ever could.
He made it to a bench out by the street before he decided he was too tired to go on a walk and sat down. He'd showered and changed, though he still felt like he was dirty, or marked, or somehow changed, like he wouldn't ever be the same again.
Maybe it was the hand print burned into the left side of his chest. It didn't hurt, but the scar was a neon sign. Lucifer had pulled him from Hell and left the mark behind, the same as Cas had done to Dean, only that scar had healed at some point that Sam didn't remember.
"You know, Lucifer, I had really hoped... I don't even know, honestly. I guess I had hoped that a promise you made to my soul would be true, even though it's probably the stupidest thing I've ever done." Sam glanced both ways on his bench to be sure that no one was listening before he closed his eyes and sighed. The street was empty. He'd hear anyone that joined him if he spoke softly enough. "I didn't want this to be another mistake."
"Give a guy a minute to find a new vessel before you start jumping to conclusions, ass." The words were in Lucifer's old voice - Nick's voice - and the image that accompanied them was weak, like the Devil had is attention elsewhere. Sam turned to him and stared, too shocked to speak. "I mean, unless you're volunteering. I'm kind of a wanted angel, though, and there are things I need even if I find a body, like demon blood, and time. Crowley wants me gone, and every angel worth his feathers does, too."
Sam blinked, a little taken aback by the words. He'd thought the world was screwed and a part of him thought it was, still, but he couldn't quell the tide of hope that arose in his chest. When he opened his mouth to say something, only air came out.
"Give me a couple of days and stay where you are. I don't know if it will be that fast and I don't know if I'll be followed, but if you're not offering up your body, I need time." Lucifer offered a small smile then, maybe because Sam still hadn't said a word, and his icy eyes glimmered with the expression. There was still all of that fury behind his face, hardly held back, like the form he was in couldn't contain it anymore.
"Oh..." Sam could hardly believe that he'd found his voice. "Okay. Take however long you need."
Lucifer smile widened. "Figured I wouldn't be getting inside of you that easily. Gotta give it time, right?" He winked devilishly. "I'll see you, Sam."
By the time Sam had regained enough composure to maybe say something back, Lucifer was gone, just the empty bench and the empty street to look at, and a tiny spark of hope burning in his chest. It didn't make sense, not with what Lucifer had done over time, but that didn't mean it was impossible. He'd never been one to keep with the plan or follow the rules or accept fate, which had been what got him in trouble in the first place, Sam knew, so why would Lucifer start doing what he was supposed to now?
Maybe the Apocalypse wasn't gearing up to get back on the train tracks and run away. Maybe it was on the back burner with a bunch of other things while Satan made sure it was his Hell that was going to rise up and take over the world, not Crowley's.
Worst case, that gave them some time.
And Sam would be waiting.
- - -
Dean's leg refused to be still. It jack-hammered up and down under the table, shaking the floor, and he watched Cas like a hawk, waiting for the explosion that he knew was coming, wanting to ask questions that Cas wouldn't want to answer. He couldn't shake the unreality of it all, of the fact that Castiel was alive and kicking and sitting there on the edge of the bed with his shoulders hunched, his expression that tender look of neutral observation that fit so well on his face, his eyes turned toward the grayish sunlight coming in the window. The light made his irises into perfectly cut sapphires. The stubble on his jaw was just a bit longer than normal, his hair just a bit unkempt. Cas had taken a tiny step closer to how he'd looked in Zachariah's future.
"We gonna talk about it?" Dean asked, and looked away when Cas looked up at him, like a game of cat and mouse. Maybe he'd get lucky and Cas would know what he meant without having to actually bring up what had happened when Dean broke into Heaven, and they could move on to other things, like logistics and Cas's wings. Because Dean had never caught the color of the feathers, but he'd definitely caught that they were bloody and torn and the thought bothered him fundamentally.
"Talk about what?" Cas seemed genuinely confused, of course. "We've already talked about demons, Dean. And lying. There is no further reason to be angry with each other about mistakes that we have both made and repeated."
Dean hated how cool those words came out, like Cas was just saying them, like he didn't really mean it. Like none of it was important. All of it was important. "No, not... not that. And I don't mean Lucifer, either."
"I am exhausted with your brother's stupidity."
"Like yours is much better."
Cas didn't have a retort for that, but he did sag a little more into himself. He didn't have the strength to argue, Dean didn't think. "What is it that you'd like to talk about, then?"
"You know," Dean gestured upward, toward Heaven, and finally met Cas's eyes again. His breath threatened to go out of him and he swallowed in an attempt to keep it, wet his lip with his tongue. It was like the angel wanted to count his freckles, judging by the intensity of his gaze. "The... moment, we had."
"When you kissed me." Cas was all business which was brave, Dean had to hand it to him.
"Yeah... that." Dean couldn't match his courage.
The angel's eyes flicked to Dean's mouth before he looked up again, and the hunter had to be thankful there was three or so feet between the chair and the bed, because if he'd been closer, he would have been very, very tempted to do something stupid. Instead, he breathed a little deeper. Blood loss. He'd blame it on that.
"It was pleasant," Cas said evenly. "I have never... I am completely indifferent to gender preferences, if that is your concern. I am a bit surprised, however. I've never known there to be a precedent for your attraction to this body." He shuffled a little, like a girl who'd been told she had a cute shirt on, and curled his fingers in the rumpled collar of his shirt. "If it's something you would like to pursue-"
"Whoa, whoa, one step at a time, please." Dean held up his hands and waved them like he could keep Cas from filling his mind up with all sorts of things he'd never thought of. It didn't work, not when the angel's fingers were toying at the second button of his shirt like he might want to undo it. "To start with, this isn't a... me and your vessel thing, alright? Mr. Novak and I aren't..." Dean could not even believe the words coming out of his mouth.
"Jimmy is dead. Or brain-dead, at the minimum."
Not what Dean had meant, but still good to know. "But you're right, men aren't generally my jam, though that isn't from a lack of looking. I've just got a specific type." He'd never told anyone that. Not his dad or Sam or any girl he'd dated. Even the few who'd learned he was a hunter, he'd never even let one of them see him look at a man's ass. It was a secret. A well-kept one as far as he was concerned. "But it's more of a... a you and me thing than a..."
Cas tilted his head as he always had and his eyebrows moved together, his lips parted. Realization was slow to spread across his face. "You want... to court me. You. After everything we've gone through." There was something dangerous in his voice that didn't show on his face.
"A little?"
The angel stood up and shortened the distance between them in two short steps. His hands came up and one went to Dean's shoulder while the other hung loosely at Cas's side and he leaned down close, well into even the most intimate layer of Dean's personal space. "You are an idiot."
"It's not the first time someone's said that."
"It is the first time I have. You are an absolute fool if you think I am going to go sit in dark places and drink alcohol and eat with you for months before we copulate." Castiel's breath was so close, his hand like lead weight on Dean's shoulder, his fingers curled in Dean's shirt with inhuman strength. "If you would rather take this one step at a time..."
Dean knew that that was the safest thing to do, all things considered, but he had never been a fan of safe. It took little more than a tilt of his face upward to press their lips together, and Castiel did not require any encouragement. It was a little surprising to Dean. The mouth against his learned from his techniques and even complimented them, built from the press of his teeth on Cas's lip into something that had been no one's plan but still felt awesome. When he pulled away, Dean could hardly keep his eyes from the angel's mouth.
"We can go as fast as you'd like, Cas. Lord knows my brakes went out ages ago."
-- -- --
Sam had never imagined how he'd get the Cage to open, or what would happen when he did. He simply thought about how stupid he was for trusting Lucifer but he couldn't help it, because he couldn't deny the honesty that pulsed through the grace in his chest. It almost hurt him to do it. But the instant he laid his right hand on the lock of the door, and wondered how, exactly, he was supposed find Death and ask to borrow his ring, the world seemed to surge around him. The things in the Cage had noticed him. The one that did not feel like Lucifer rattled the door, suffered a wound for it, and the fight raged on, louder than anything Sam had ever heard.
He was watching, worrying, fighting with himself over how he was supposed to unlock the Cage and what he would do if he managed that and what he would do if the whole thing turned out to be a ploy by the Devil to get free, when the metal simply gave way under his hand and the door swung inward.
So many things happened too quickly for him to follow, though his brain attempted to logically mash things into chronological order. The entirety of Hell trembled. There wasn't a soul that didn't feel it. Light drew first inward and then flew out at him, faster than he could really understand. His feet left the ground and he moved, caught up in that endless, tumultuous fury, lifted in a tender hold, wrapped up in impossible, terrifying power. It was like being strapped to a comet, except he didn't feel the hold of possession or the gag of a mind pressed over the top of his own or any of the other pitfalls he'd experienced before. It was like the moment just before sleep, when the cool nothing reached out and soothed his mind before it pulled him into dreams.
But there was anger, too, and thankfulness. And the fires of Hell were too slow to keep up with the speed of the fury as it carried him.
He never said the incantation, never breathed a single syllable. He never needed to. The Devil dragged him out of Hell like a well deserved bounty and slammed the door of the Cage like the lid of a coffin behind him.
There was no slow, gentle shift for Sam, no slipping back into his meat suit like a man slipping into his favorite pair of shoes. It happened just like everything else had, too fast and too forceful - a breath of air and his heart hammering too hard in his chest, shivers and muscle spasms and Dean leaning over him, too close. Sam felt far, far too hot in his skin, though he knew it was not a physical sensation.
He didn't feel the shock wave that followed his soul into the room, but he did hear the crash of the windows shattering, a slam of the bowl thrown from the table. The inanimate objects in the room leaped away from wherever they had been sitting and the walls groaned as if under a tremendous weight.
"Sam!" Dean's voice was very, very quiet, but he could still hear it, like a fuzzy tickle compared to the violence of a moment before.
It was still enough to make him open his eyes and let his brother pat him down, looking for new wounds, grabbing at his wrists. Eventually, he sat up which was somehow dizzying. There was blood everywhere - his arms, his sides, his legs, but he wasn't worried about it. Everything would be fine. It was like a promise. Everything would be perfectly, impossibly fine.
"I'm okay," Sam said, and he didn't think it was a lie, no matter how eagerly his brother was tugging at him to be sure he was safe. It wasn't until Dean had both of his wrists turned up for a better view that the commotion slowed, and Sam repeated himself, a little too tired to really care that the gashes had healed over as if by magic. "Really, I'm okay." He repeated, still not sure of himself.
"What the Hell just happened?" Dean demanded, as serious as he had ever been, his bravado cast aside like a coat. He looked, though, like he might already know.
Sam looked over his brother's shoulder at a figure he thought he recognized and tried to smile at Castiel. "Hey, Cas," He heard himself say. "Did Dean find you?" He asked, and realized that he had lost more blood than he'd hoped he would have, because he felt weak and chilled on the outside, even if the inside was still boiling. When Castiel just looked at him, trying to measure his surprise, Sam couldn't get up the gusto to do more than grin toothily at him.
"Sam, do not let him distract you. What happened?" Dean gave his wrists a little shake that pulled Sam's eyes to his brother's.
What he saw there was everything he'd hoped he wouldn't have to betray. Hope, fear, a desperate denial - it was all there, like Dean already knew. Because he had to. Everyone knew, every thing, whether they understood it or not. Sam didn't know where to begin to tell the story of the door sliding open or where to end it with the promise in his soul, but he knew what Dean did not want to hear and how he needed to say it.
"It was in the Cage, Dean. It was in there with Lucifer and Michael. And I just... I didn't know what to do, so I..." That part was a lie. Sam had made a decision to get close, to try to see if he could open the door, and maybe do it. "I just touched it, that's all. And the door just..."
"Lucifer is free." Cas intoned softly and pushed himself up on his feet, a little unsteady, shuffled closer. Without the trench coat he looked smaller. When he was standing just within Dean's personal space, he stopped, his eyes narrowed at Sam. "And you opened the door."
"Sam..." Dean began, like he wanted to launch into a lecture.
"It sort of fell in!" Sam tried to explain, but he really didn't want to go on. There wasn't a point defending his actions. And he and Dean were both suffering from blood-loss, he was sure. It simply was not the time to be fighting. With a sigh, Sam brought his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes for a moment, trying to scrub the exhaustion and the guilt off of his skin, which wasn't going to happen. What he needed was a quiet room to talk to Lucifer in, assuming they could still do that and the Devil would listen and hadn't run off to wherever now that he was free.
Dean held the lecture in but the words were still there, compressed like the explosion in a bottle-rocket. He looked at the demon and the girl at the far end of the room by the table and bit his lip for a moment before he spoke. "Thanks, but... I... I think we've got it from here." He said, maybe in an effort to get the two women to leave the room.
It didn't work.
"Who exactly is the bloody skinny guy and what happened with Lucifer?" Stephanie chimed, completely candid. For a girl that hadn't known about the existence of demons the day prior, she sure was willing to jump in.
"Castiel," Cas said lowly. "I... was an angel of the Lord."
"Was?" That came in stereo from Cassandra and Stephanie both.
"It is a long story. I don't think now is the best time to explain." He finally turned his accusatory gaze away from Sam and instead directed the look at Dean, who didn't meet it. "I am much more interested in hearing how it is that these two ended up in this room taking part in this... unholy act."
"Hey!" Cassandra protested. "They asked me how they could get into Heaven and Hell and they weren't being particularly picky about the means, asshole. You think I do this heavy bullshit for fun? Oh no. No, no. I corrupt people into cheating on their wives and stealing from their bosses, I don't... snatch the organs out of dead babies unless a hunter comes in here looking like they need something otherwise impossible to attain."
"Like Poseidon's trident," Sam offered.
"Did you get it?" Dean interjected.
"Oh, yeah. Pried it out Lucifer's fingers while he swept me out of Hell and crammed me back in body, Dean. I totally had the time."
Stephanie stomped her boot on the floor and raised her voice in a display of emotion that overshadowed every response she had had up until that point, her face flushed with frustration, her hands in fists at her sides. "Someone just tell what the Hell is going on! I don't give a shit about who opened what door or why the dirty looking guy isn't an angel. Just tell me..." She paused then and some of the tension ran out of her, like water from a strainer. Her head tilted to the side and her braid slid over her shoulder with the motion. She looked at Dean and then Cas before she spoke. "Why are the two of you so mad at each other? You're going to make up anyway, so why all the pent up aggression?"
It was fairly obvious that the words surprised her.
"What I meant," Stephanie went on, softer. "Is that I'm not leaving until someone explains to me what else is out there besides fallen angels and demons and apparently Lucifer and Poseidon."
For a moment the room fell into silence. The angel, the demon, the girl, and the hunters looked between each other, each with their own questions, more than half weighing their guilt. Sam could see that as angry as Cas was with the situation, he understood it, and he could see that as worried as Dean was that his brother had unleashed Hell on the world, he was not hopeless. That alone was enough to raise his spirits a little, even if the whole thing seemed far too complex to deal with, even one little issue at a time.
"Well, the ritual part is over so..." Sam broke the silence, and looked down at his perfect, unscarred wrists in an attempt to ignore the attention it got him. "How about the four of us get out of Cassandra's hair and grab a couple of beers and talk things over?"
"Sounds like a plan." Dean said too quickly. He wouldn't have been that fast to jump on the bandwagon if not for their hypocrisy, Sam knew. Dean didn't want to be in that room, surrounded by the evidence of their sin while Cas was with him, judging him in his quiet way.
Cassandra clapped her hands together and smiled like that was the best idea she'd ever heard. "Excellent plan! Now, if you three gentlemen would just get up and get out and try not to bleed on anything the clients might see, I'll take care of this mess and gladly never see you again. Except in passing. Preferably walking away." She gestured toward the door like a woman directing the flow of traffic. "And Stephanie, do feel free to stop by if you feel the need. I'm always willing to help grow talents and encourage their misuse."
"Right." Stephanie deadpanned.
Sam struggled to his feet and helped Dean do the same, though there was a moment when he worried that his brother didn't want to touch him, which hurt a little. When the two of them were finally up, he waved for a moment before Castiel took Dean's arm, which didn't keep Sam steady, but it did make their exit a little more graceful any way, made getting back into their shoes a little easier. They moved through the house like they knew they had worn out their welcome, and Stephanie walked behind like a ghost in their footsteps, perhaps bewildered or amused by the goings on, it was difficult to tell.
By the time they had piled into the car, Sam was not entirely sure it was a good idea to have Dean in the driver's seat, but it would be fine, because the promise was still there, burned into his soul, even if it had started to rain again.
"We've only got a motel room," Dean said, like it was something to be sorry about. "It isn't anything fancy."
"Screw fancy," Stephanie hissed, and it was enough to send them out into the road.
- - -
Dean realized that if it was beer they were after, they didn't have much of that at the motel, so he stopped off at the 7-Eleven and cajoled Stephanie into getting out and making the purchase for them. To start, Cas didn't have shoes, Sam looked like he'd murdered someone in an alley, and Dean was pretty sure that a broken arm wasn't going to be a decent enough pity card when his shirt was sticking to him with his own blood. Stephanie, at least, didn't take much convincing, and even picked up a fifth of whiskey when Cas commented on beer not being strong enough for the situation.
They didn't discuss things until he had taken up the same old parking spot and lead their motley crew into the motel room, which likely looked less like home to Cas and Stephanie than it did to him by now. There was still the heap of destroyed wicker chair in the corner, still booze on the nightstand, still a little spread of papers on the wall and on the table. The laptop was still closed, the bathroom door still open, just as they'd left it.
"At a glance, you two look like serial killers," Stephanie pointed out the state of Dean's bedding, which hadn't escaped staining when he'd taken the stab wound earlier in the week though he had at least changed the sheets, and then turned her attention to the papers pinned on the wall.
"Comes with the job description," Dean sank down on the bed and leaned on the wall, which might have been more comfortable than any couch, and twisted the lid from his beer. Bless the man that invented screw caps on alcoholic beverages; flip lids are not the friends of men with broken arms. "In this line of work you have to be emotionally scarred, physically fit, a good liar, and keep a room like a serial killer, or you're fired."
"Physically fit? Are you sure?" Stephanie cocked an eyebrow and took up a seat next to the laptop and the remaining wicker chair creaked under her weight. "That's beside the point. I want the three of you to be brutally honest with me for a moment. Would it be better for me to learn what has happened and try to help you, or get up and walk out that door and call a cab right now? You're all in over your heads. I'm well over my head - have been all this time. I can see things and I don't know if I want to understand them."
It was Cas that answered her, voice low, face frowning, from his post by the entryway. "You can see glimpses of the future." It wasn't a question.
"More like glimpses of the present and impressions of the future. I'm a crappy psychic."
The angel nodded, though he didn't comment or try to correct her.
Sam started to talk, to say something about how being in the know was both safer and more dangerous, but that this issue - letting Devil run loose out of Hell - was bigger than any of them, when Dean's phone rang. Which was good. Sam was better at the giving apologies about the world ending. It just wasn't Dean's forte. He kind of considered himself used to the shock of the apocalypse, which made being empathetic a little difficult.
It also didn't help that he needed to tell Sam that it was fine, they'd figure it out, nor that he needed to be alone in a room with Cas for an hour. To talk. And keep a promise he'd broken more than once, if Cas was willing.
Too soon to be thinking those thoughts and he knew it.
"Yeah?" He answered his phone and got up off the bed, waving the conversation on, while he shuffled himself toward the door. He had to step around Cas to get out.
"Please, please tell me you got the trident and didn't just let Lucifer out of Hell for shits and giggles." His phone said to him in a pleading tone. "Because I am really surprised the two of you got into Hell, and even more surprised you did the one thing you shouldn't have done while you were there."
"Hi, Nichole, yeah, I'm doing fine, thanks for asking," Dean growled. "And for your information, your husband's discostick was in the Cage with Lucifer. Sam just tapped the birdcage and the bird flew out - it's not like that was the plan."
"You sure about that?"
"What do you mean am I sure about that? Of course I'm sure. My brother might be crazy but he's not... trust Satan, crazy."
Nichole didn't say anything, but her sigh was enough.
Dean rubbed at his eyes with his right hand and wished that the day would just be over. He was too old and tired to be doing this. Even if it was only one in the afternoon, with scattered showers and birdsong lilting across the city, he really couldn't muster up more than obligatory guilt that maybe he and Sam had hammered another nail into the world's coffin. He wanted a beer. That was about the only difference since that morning.
"Look," he said. "It doesn't matter why or how it happened. We've got to deal with it, just like everything else. We can point fingers and call names and go back to killing each other when there's time for it, because we don't have the strength or the resources to fight that many battles." He didn't see so much as sense the movement of a person on the far side of the parking lot, and he watched the man get into a blue Oldsmobile, the act routine, like Dean wasn't leaning on the white paint of the motel wall, watching him, like Lucifer wasn't free, like the world wasn't at war. "It doesn't matter if it's Leviathans or Lucifer or friggin' fire giants, we fight until we can't fight anymore, then we talk crap until we're dead."
Nichole laughed softly, the sound ancient in a way that nothing else about her had ever been. When she spoke, there was a smile in her voice. "Alright. We'll call it a temporary alliance, until we at least find Lucifer. He's your problem, just so you know, not mine. I can fight Leviathan from dawn until dusk and maybe live, but the Devil is a different story."
Dean could deal with that. Even if it wasn't going to be as easy as watching Sam triple lindy into the Pit. "Fine. You're on bigmouths, we're on Satan. It's a start."
"Call me if things get gooey." Nichole instructed, and the line went dead in Dean's hand. Which was for the best. He couldn't make a sexual joke that way.
He turned to go back inside and the door opened before he could touch it, on the other side of it Stephanie was standing, her face drawn into a frown. "There are some things I need to pick up. I'll call you if anything crazy happens."
"You have my number?" Dean blinked.
"Sam shared."
He nodded. "What are you getting?"
"Borax, salt, maybe a gun. I'm driving back to Illinois. Wouldn't want to end up stuck on a plane with something, you know? Man, reality blows, you know that? Seriously. I could handle demons and magic, and stuff like that, but shape-shifters and ghouls and Lucifer walking the Earth?" She shook her head. "I don't even believe in God."
Dean felt his mouth twitch at that. He hadn't either, maybe he still didn't. It was a hard thing to do, considering all the evil in the world, but some people managed. "Yeah, well, just keep your head down if you can. Now's not the best time to join the field."
"I know," she stepped passed him and pulled her phone from her jacket, began to dial. "It's not the best time to be playing it, either, but you don't have to take my advice."
"Shut up." He didn't mean it. Without saying goodbye, he slipped back into the room and shut the door behind him.
- - -
Sam took his leave as soon as Dean got to the part in the lecture where they came to the same conclusion - it didn't matter if the door had fallen off of the hinges or Sam had kicked it open, they were still going to deal with the consequences. Together. Like always. After that, Sam took very little part in explaining to Cas how it was that they'd come to make a deal with Cassandra, because Dean seemed to be directing the regret train and he wasn't about to step up and try to wrest the controls away from him.
So Sam said a simple confession of guilt, offered his forgiveness if Cas was willing to forgive him, and walked out.
He hadn't thought it would be that easy, but it was. Cas was family, even if he wasn't blood. Sam was pretty sure Cas was punishing himself more over what he'd done than Sam ever could.
He made it to a bench out by the street before he decided he was too tired to go on a walk and sat down. He'd showered and changed, though he still felt like he was dirty, or marked, or somehow changed, like he wouldn't ever be the same again.
Maybe it was the hand print burned into the left side of his chest. It didn't hurt, but the scar was a neon sign. Lucifer had pulled him from Hell and left the mark behind, the same as Cas had done to Dean, only that scar had healed at some point that Sam didn't remember.
"You know, Lucifer, I had really hoped... I don't even know, honestly. I guess I had hoped that a promise you made to my soul would be true, even though it's probably the stupidest thing I've ever done." Sam glanced both ways on his bench to be sure that no one was listening before he closed his eyes and sighed. The street was empty. He'd hear anyone that joined him if he spoke softly enough. "I didn't want this to be another mistake."
"Give a guy a minute to find a new vessel before you start jumping to conclusions, ass." The words were in Lucifer's old voice - Nick's voice - and the image that accompanied them was weak, like the Devil had is attention elsewhere. Sam turned to him and stared, too shocked to speak. "I mean, unless you're volunteering. I'm kind of a wanted angel, though, and there are things I need even if I find a body, like demon blood, and time. Crowley wants me gone, and every angel worth his feathers does, too."
Sam blinked, a little taken aback by the words. He'd thought the world was screwed and a part of him thought it was, still, but he couldn't quell the tide of hope that arose in his chest. When he opened his mouth to say something, only air came out.
"Give me a couple of days and stay where you are. I don't know if it will be that fast and I don't know if I'll be followed, but if you're not offering up your body, I need time." Lucifer offered a small smile then, maybe because Sam still hadn't said a word, and his icy eyes glimmered with the expression. There was still all of that fury behind his face, hardly held back, like the form he was in couldn't contain it anymore.
"Oh..." Sam could hardly believe that he'd found his voice. "Okay. Take however long you need."
Lucifer smile widened. "Figured I wouldn't be getting inside of you that easily. Gotta give it time, right?" He winked devilishly. "I'll see you, Sam."
By the time Sam had regained enough composure to maybe say something back, Lucifer was gone, just the empty bench and the empty street to look at, and a tiny spark of hope burning in his chest. It didn't make sense, not with what Lucifer had done over time, but that didn't mean it was impossible. He'd never been one to keep with the plan or follow the rules or accept fate, which had been what got him in trouble in the first place, Sam knew, so why would Lucifer start doing what he was supposed to now?
Maybe the Apocalypse wasn't gearing up to get back on the train tracks and run away. Maybe it was on the back burner with a bunch of other things while Satan made sure it was his Hell that was going to rise up and take over the world, not Crowley's.
Worst case, that gave them some time.
And Sam would be waiting.
- - -
Dean's leg refused to be still. It jack-hammered up and down under the table, shaking the floor, and he watched Cas like a hawk, waiting for the explosion that he knew was coming, wanting to ask questions that Cas wouldn't want to answer. He couldn't shake the unreality of it all, of the fact that Castiel was alive and kicking and sitting there on the edge of the bed with his shoulders hunched, his expression that tender look of neutral observation that fit so well on his face, his eyes turned toward the grayish sunlight coming in the window. The light made his irises into perfectly cut sapphires. The stubble on his jaw was just a bit longer than normal, his hair just a bit unkempt. Cas had taken a tiny step closer to how he'd looked in Zachariah's future.
"We gonna talk about it?" Dean asked, and looked away when Cas looked up at him, like a game of cat and mouse. Maybe he'd get lucky and Cas would know what he meant without having to actually bring up what had happened when Dean broke into Heaven, and they could move on to other things, like logistics and Cas's wings. Because Dean had never caught the color of the feathers, but he'd definitely caught that they were bloody and torn and the thought bothered him fundamentally.
"Talk about what?" Cas seemed genuinely confused, of course. "We've already talked about demons, Dean. And lying. There is no further reason to be angry with each other about mistakes that we have both made and repeated."
Dean hated how cool those words came out, like Cas was just saying them, like he didn't really mean it. Like none of it was important. All of it was important. "No, not... not that. And I don't mean Lucifer, either."
"I am exhausted with your brother's stupidity."
"Like yours is much better."
Cas didn't have a retort for that, but he did sag a little more into himself. He didn't have the strength to argue, Dean didn't think. "What is it that you'd like to talk about, then?"
"You know," Dean gestured upward, toward Heaven, and finally met Cas's eyes again. His breath threatened to go out of him and he swallowed in an attempt to keep it, wet his lip with his tongue. It was like the angel wanted to count his freckles, judging by the intensity of his gaze. "The... moment, we had."
"When you kissed me." Cas was all business which was brave, Dean had to hand it to him.
"Yeah... that." Dean couldn't match his courage.
The angel's eyes flicked to Dean's mouth before he looked up again, and the hunter had to be thankful there was three or so feet between the chair and the bed, because if he'd been closer, he would have been very, very tempted to do something stupid. Instead, he breathed a little deeper. Blood loss. He'd blame it on that.
"It was pleasant," Cas said evenly. "I have never... I am completely indifferent to gender preferences, if that is your concern. I am a bit surprised, however. I've never known there to be a precedent for your attraction to this body." He shuffled a little, like a girl who'd been told she had a cute shirt on, and curled his fingers in the rumpled collar of his shirt. "If it's something you would like to pursue-"
"Whoa, whoa, one step at a time, please." Dean held up his hands and waved them like he could keep Cas from filling his mind up with all sorts of things he'd never thought of. It didn't work, not when the angel's fingers were toying at the second button of his shirt like he might want to undo it. "To start with, this isn't a... me and your vessel thing, alright? Mr. Novak and I aren't..." Dean could not even believe the words coming out of his mouth.
"Jimmy is dead. Or brain-dead, at the minimum."
Not what Dean had meant, but still good to know. "But you're right, men aren't generally my jam, though that isn't from a lack of looking. I've just got a specific type." He'd never told anyone that. Not his dad or Sam or any girl he'd dated. Even the few who'd learned he was a hunter, he'd never even let one of them see him look at a man's ass. It was a secret. A well-kept one as far as he was concerned. "But it's more of a... a you and me thing than a..."
Cas tilted his head as he always had and his eyebrows moved together, his lips parted. Realization was slow to spread across his face. "You want... to court me. You. After everything we've gone through." There was something dangerous in his voice that didn't show on his face.
"A little?"
The angel stood up and shortened the distance between them in two short steps. His hands came up and one went to Dean's shoulder while the other hung loosely at Cas's side and he leaned down close, well into even the most intimate layer of Dean's personal space. "You are an idiot."
"It's not the first time someone's said that."
"It is the first time I have. You are an absolute fool if you think I am going to go sit in dark places and drink alcohol and eat with you for months before we copulate." Castiel's breath was so close, his hand like lead weight on Dean's shoulder, his fingers curled in Dean's shirt with inhuman strength. "If you would rather take this one step at a time..."
Dean knew that that was the safest thing to do, all things considered, but he had never been a fan of safe. It took little more than a tilt of his face upward to press their lips together, and Castiel did not require any encouragement. It was a little surprising to Dean. The mouth against his learned from his techniques and even complimented them, built from the press of his teeth on Cas's lip into something that had been no one's plan but still felt awesome. When he pulled away, Dean could hardly keep his eyes from the angel's mouth.
"We can go as fast as you'd like, Cas. Lord knows my brakes went out ages ago."