DCBB fic - Are You There, Dean Winchester? It's Me ... God - PART FIVE
MASTERPOST
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PART FIVE
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~~~SAM~~~
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Sam had the most God-awful taste in his mouth when he woke up the next morning. His face was also apparently stuck to the leather of the couch he’d been sleeping (and drooling) on. Slowly he opened his eyes and tried to focus on the room around him a bit before making the effort to move. He felt, well … he felt pretty damn good, actually. In fact, he felt better than he had in fucking months! There was absolutely no tension in his body. No cramping or stiffness. No aches or pains. Hot damn, he’s not sure the cause, but he was very appreciative of the effect.
Once his vision focused a bit, his gaze immediately sought out the giant bed in the middle of the cabin. If he’d been expecting to find a mound of sleeping brother there, color him shocked at seeing Dean sitting up Indian style in the middle of the massive mattress. His older brother had an intensely pensive look on his face, and was fiddling with the black leather bracelets on his wrist.
Sam furrowed his brow. Pensive Dean was never a good thing. Pensive Dean was often ‘I’m about to do something very stupid’ Dean. Sam didn’t like that look one bit. Groaning to announce his own state of wakefulness, the younger Winchester pushed himself up from the couch to a sitting position. He let his head fall back to give the illusion that he was still half asleep, but left his eyes slightly slit open to analyze the rest of the room.
Castiel and Balthazar sat silently at the kitchen table, and the weak filtered light making its way through the lace curtains indicated it was very early morning. There was a strange tension between the two angels that he didn’t remember being there when he fell asleep the night before. Cas looked positively angst-ridden. Balthazar just appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. Or constipated. Hard to tell. Sam wasn’t as used to that particular angel’s facial expressions.
He remembered the last thoughts he’d had before passing out on the couch the night previous. The equation of Dean and Cas. No matter how exhausted and caffeine-high crashed he’d been the previous evening … that equation still made complete sense to Sam.
Dean + Cas = Love.
Seriously, how had he not seen it before? It was perfect. Dean needed someone to lean on, depend on, confide in … but at the same time be able to take care of. Focus on. Provide for, in his own kind of backwards way. Castiel could use all those things. In fact, he seemed to downright delight in them on the rare occasion that Dean opened up to the angel.
Not that Cas actually needed any of that. Not that Cas couldn’t take care of himself. Sam didn’t mean that, not at all. Truthfully, the other reason it was so perfect was the mere fact that he didn’t. Cas was a total badass that took no shit from Dean Winchester. Hell, when it came down to Dean making a monumentally stupid judgment call, Cas had proven that he had no problem with beating some sense into the hunter.
At the same time, though, when something or someone made the mistake of threatening Dean … Cas would go all Doberman Pincher crazy on their ass until he knew that Dean was safe. Really, in the completely FUBAR’ed world the Winchesters resided in … it was the perfect relationship. Now what the hell should he do about it? Getting Dean to talk about things like ‘feelings’ and ‘relationships’ was about as easy as getting Castiel to understand obscure pop cultural references.
Sam was totally fucked. He supposed he could throw them both into a closet with some condoms and lube, bar the door and hope they figure it out, but OH MY GOD THE MENTAL IMAGE OF THAT THOUGHT WAS NOW BURNED INTO HIS RETINA’S NEVER TO BE WASHED AWAY AND WHY DID HE HAVE TO GO THERE? WHY? WHYYYYYYY?
Licking his dry lips, Sam grimaced at the taste in his mouth once more. He needed his toothbrush. And some industrial strength toothpaste. The small noise from his mouth must have finally alerted Dean to his conscious state, because his older brother was turning towards him with a sudden, blinding (and completely forced) smile.
“Wakey, wakey, Sammy-puddin’-pie! How was your nap? You were out laid out like a little bitch!”
Sam rolled his eyes to disguise his sudden, terrifying sense of panic. Dean was too happy. He was overdoing the flippant attitude. He was planning something. Or already had something planned and was just waiting to execute it. And if he was going this far to make Sam think all was well … then it was a plan he knew that Sam was going to really, really dislike. Or try to keep him from doing altogether.
He cursed himself a little for falling asleep so deeply, because it was painfully obvious that something very important had occurred during his slumber. When Dean had spoken, Castiel’s gaze had immediately shot over to watch the man on the bed. Balthazar just continued to watch Cas. Sam sighed wearily and stood up from the couch, stretching his arms high above his head and arching his back slightly to get the most out of the movement.
He caught Dean just watching his actions with a small little smile on his lips. Fucking shit. Sam was running theories through his brain at break-neck speed now. Something big had changed. Something was different now, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. Dammit. Why did he have to fall asleep!?
“What’s up, guys? Did I miss something?”
The resounding chorus of ‘No’s’ in the room pretty much guaranteed themselves to be falsehoods. Dean looked at Cas, and Cas looked at Balthazar, and Balthazar looked at Dean. Then back to Cas. Who went back to staring at Dean, but a little squintier eyed this time. Then Dean’s eyes flitted briefly to Balthazar before returning to Sam. It was so just this side of fucking comical that Sam vaguely wondered when the laugh-track would start up.
Sam brought both his hands up to rub once down his face before jamming his fingers through his hair in a highly irritated manner. He smacked his rank ass lips together once, then crossed his arms and tried for his sternest face. Dean called it ‘Bitch face #0 - the Prime Bitch face’, and didn’t Sam just love his brother’s ridiculous sense of humor sometimes?
“Look, I can obviously tell that something’s chang-”
“I really want a cheeseburger.”
Sam’s tirade stuttered to a stop as he looked back at his older brother perched now on the end of the massive mattress.
“What?”
Dean’s whole face lit up in a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, which sent another spike of fear deep down into Sam’s gut, before Dean damn near bounded from the bed and into the kitchen.
“A cheeseburger, Sam? Surely you remember what a cheeseburger is?”
The younger Winchester watched, completely fucking stunned, as Dean trotted over to the fridge and popped it open with something that closely approximated glee. Sam turned to the angels sitting not ten feet from the currently rummaging form of his brother and sought out Cas’ gaze. The other man turned briefly to Sam, eyebrows clearly fighting not to reach his hairline, before going back to observing Dean’s fumbling motions. Sam caught Balthazar’s gaze, too, but all he received from that arena was a vague shrug and a slight smirk.
“Dude, I’m totally fucking starving. There’s nothing in here but some ketchup and pickles that look older than I am. Seriously. Cheeseburger. Want.”
The door to the fridge closed with a squish and Dean turned and smiled at Castiel.
“Cas! Come on, man! Cheeseburger? You know you want one, too! Don’t deny it!”
Dean’s grin was all bravado and way too many teeth for Sam’s liking, but his brother just completely ignored the three flabbergasted looks currently directed his way. Cas cleared his throat quietly and licked his lips.
“I … I … suppose?”
Dean clapped his hands together and chuckled. A troop of shivers climbed up Sam’s spine like a march of ants.
“Awesome! Balthazar! Be a pal and go fetch some burgers for the mongering hordes!”
The angel in question blinked once at Dean, apparently in shock, and then opened his mouth to no doubt spew forth a string of insults and curses. Just before the first vowel was set to breeze past his lips, however, the older angel froze. His eyes widened slowly, but did not break contact from Dean. Sam darted his gaze back and forth between the two and desperately tried to figure out why his brother and Balthazar appeared to be having a soulful conversation with nothing more than their eyes.
“RIGHT!”
Sam practically jumped in place at Balthazar’s sudden outburst. The angel quickly stood and made a big production of dusting invisible dirt off his trousers.
“Burgers it is then. Back in a few, lovelies!”
With that, he was gone, and Sam was really fucking confused.
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~~~DEAN~~~
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Despite being completely and utterly exhausted and wanting no more than to sleep for a couple fucking years the previous evening, Dean never fell into a slumber after making his decision. He’d feigned sleep for several hours after the angels’ discussion, but sometime around four in the morning had given up and quietly lifted himself to a seated position in the middle of the bed.
Hard to believe that just twenty-four hours previous his life had been fairly normal. Well, fairly normal in so much as a Winchester could ever hope for. Now he, quite literally, had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Again. This was his last day on Earth. Again. A shiver skittered down his spine as he remembered having a similar day only a handful of years ago. The echoed cries of a hellhound reverberated in his memory.
Sucks to experience two days like this in a lifetime. Most people don’t even have to experience it once. Knowing that you’re going to die, violently and painfully, and by your own fucking choice. His eyes were burning with developing tears, and he mentally tried to shake himself out of a downward slide.
Couldn’t let Sam know. Couldn’t let Cas know. Not until it was too late for either of them to do anything to stop him. Dean sighed and brought his hands up to rub at his stinging eyes. He couldn’t wait long on this. The angels would waste no time trying to find him. Going after Bobby, or Lisa and Ben, anyone that might have known him. He had to end it soon if he was going to end it at all.
Sniffing softly once under his breath, Dean turned his gaze to the two current angels in his company. Cas and Balthazar were facing each other, seated on the heavy wooden chairs that flanked the kitchen table. Neither were talking, but there were a couple empty bottles of wine strewn across the table’s artfully distressed surface.
A small smile lifted the corner of the elder Winchester’s mouth. He hoped that Cas had at least had some of those empty bottles. He could use it. When his Grace had touched the Grace inside Dean, it had been obvious how upset and torn up the angel had been with the entire situation. Funny … how sometimes Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel even liked him, and then the angel would prove that, yeah, apparently he actually did.
Dean looked away from his silent companions, and toward the massive form of his little brother sprawled out on the couch. Sam’s mouth was parted slightly, and rather than actual snoring, he was just breathing loudly into the leather cushion. He’d apparently been so tired that he hadn’t bothered removing his jacket or shoes, just crashed out into oblivion.
Dean was maybe a little jealous, but then Sam had looked like he needed the rest. Strung out and wrung out as he’d appeared. This time the smile that graced his lips was full on. Damn, but Dean loved his little brother like a mad thing. Sure, he hadn’t liked soulless Sammy very much, and Lucifer Sammy even less. But in all those incarnations, he’d still been Dean’s little Sammy, and he was always going to save him. No matter what.
He just hoped that when all this played out and was done, Sam would get out of hunting and maybe try Stanford again. Or at least a wife and rugrats. Something. Anything. Maybe he should make Sam promise him to get out, just like his brother had done to Dean before throwing himself into the fucking pit with Lucifer. Wouldn’t that be some poetic justice? Hmph, ain’t payback a bitch, Sammy?
Slowly Dean brought his attention back to the quilted comforter covering the bed where he currently sat. He stared at the spot directly in front of his crossed legs and let his eyes un-focus while he drifted into this own mind for a bit. He concentrated on his little friend the moth that still beat it’s wings softly and persistently inside his chest, to remind him there were angels in the room with him.
Never one for delving too deep into things, he just figured that the little staccato beat was some small sliver of God’s consciousness. Somehow the Grace inside him had a small trace of … awareness. That would explain why it accepted Dean, didn’t burn him to nothing, why it let Cas mold it, why it made the hunter feel an extremely intense sense of pride and ownership of the two Heavenly beings seated a couple dozen feet away.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on Castiel and Balthazar. Inside him, inside that little beat of the moth’s wings against his breastbone, he could differentiate between the presence of the two. Reaching for Balthazar first, Dean imagined a small spindly finger made of smoke touching the thrum of life he felt from the angel.
Warm spiced rum and gingersnap cookies.
Balthazar.
Cracking his eyes open and slanting them towards the table, he wondered if the angel could feel what he was doing. Balthazar continued to sip slowly from the remaining bottle of wine and stare blankly at Castiel, so apparently he couldn’t feel Dean using God’s Grace to touch his own. Dean pulled the Grace away from the angel and shifted his gaze across the room to the couch were Sam lay sprawled across. Could he feel people, too? The way he felt the angels?
He thought of Sam, thought of everything he knew of his brother, and how much he meant to him. Then he imagined the ghost-like tendril of grace reaching towards that knowledge … and suddenly there it was. There was Sam.
Fresh home-baked bread and cinnamon apples.
Samuel.
And that was Sam. Damn. He could feel him now. Feel his brother’s battered and sectioned soul. Feel the wall splitting it down the middle. Feel the scratches on the surface that meant Sam just couldn’t leave well enough alone, as usual. Dean swallowed thickly and concentrated on the little moth.
Can we fix that?
Fix that?
He did his best to somehow ‘point out’ the wall in Sam’s soul with his mind. If it felt like he was playing some sort of demented version of mental Pictionary, well fuck … he was new to this whole ‘power of God’ thing, you know?
That wall. That soul. Can we heal that?
Heal that?
Yes. Make it all better?
Make it better?
Please. Before I leave him … I need to know that it’s all better.
Better.
There was a burst of something that sent shockwaves through his system. He felt God’s Grace snap some of the restraints Castiel had placed like they were nothing more than silly string attempting to hold a raging bull in place. Then the Grace was flowing to the sense of ‘Sam’ that he’d touched before. It gently grasped the battered soul and enveloped it, caressed it, whispered words of love and devotion and gratitude into its light. It told the soul what a good job it had done, how proud it was, and that it shouldn’t need to suffer so for its sacrifice.
Before Dean knew it, the Graced had pulled back inside him, contented and warm.
Better.
He had to choke down the sob that fought to explode from his throat, because he could feel it. He could feel Sammy’s remade, unmarred soul. His eyes were burning with tears, but he clenched them tightly and begged them not to fall.
Thank you.
Make it all better. Fix it. Fix it all better. Put it all to rights.
Yeah, little buddy, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.
The moth made a happy little squeak inside his head, accompanied by an enthusiastic flutter.
Castiel?
Dean blinked at the sudden change of topic. The change of topic … inside his own head. He was sooooo not going to think too hard about that.
Castiel?
The voice was a little more insistent this time, and Dean suddenly realized that he’d reached out to touch Balthazar and Sam, but not Cas. Well, he supposed he could remedy that. He began to unfurl the tendril of Grace towards Cas and the little moth let out another pleased squeak. Closing his eyes, Dean concentrated on keeping the angel oblivious to his presence and moved the thinnest, barely there tendril to just briefly skim across the surface-
THUNDERSTORMS. RAIN. FRESHLY MOWED GRASS. FRESH PEACHES WITH COLD THICK CREAM. WARM SUGAR COOKIES. SKIN AND SWEAT AND HEAT AND SEX SEX SEX-
Dean broke away with a gasp, eyes flying open to immediately seek out Castiel across the room.
HOLY SHIT!!
CASTIEL!!
WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?!
CASTIEL!!!
The angel was staring straight back at him, eyes wide and mouth parted, gaspy little breaths making his slighter frame shudder. A strong shiver trumpeted down Dean’s spine and the little moth was apparently doing the Lambada in his chest cavity. There was something else too, and it took him a couple seconds of staring into Cas’ eyes, pupils blown wide, to realize what it was.
Cas’ Grace. The Grace that Cas used to stitch him back together. He could feel it now. Inside of him. Dancing and twirling and singing in time with the little moth. They twirled around each other, apparently in utter fucking glee at being connected.
“Dean.”
Fuck. Cas’ voice was rough and raw and deeper than usual. It was sex voice. It was totally sex voice. It sent a spike of pleasure straight through Dean’s entire nervous system. And seriously, the fucking thing in his chest was MOTHRA now, and feeling like it was going to explode out of him any second.
“Dean … what are you doing?”
The angel’s voice was still slightly breathless. Dean closed his eyes to break contact and panted softly, the sound almost obscene in the quiet room. He licked his dry lips and willed his voice to come out as steady as possible.
“S-Sorry, Cas. Sorry. Was just … trying to figure something out.”
He could tell that the angel wanted to demand a better explanation, and Balthazar was practically vibrating with curiosity, but instead he slammed a mental guillotine down on the connection between him and Cas. Then he scooted on the bed until his back was to the kitchen and he was facing Sammy on the couch.
There were two pairs of eyes practically boring holes into the back of his head, and a mopey little moth now beating mournfully in his soul, but he ignored them all.
PART SIX
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PART FIVE
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~~~SAM~~~
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Sam had the most God-awful taste in his mouth when he woke up the next morning. His face was also apparently stuck to the leather of the couch he’d been sleeping (and drooling) on. Slowly he opened his eyes and tried to focus on the room around him a bit before making the effort to move. He felt, well … he felt pretty damn good, actually. In fact, he felt better than he had in fucking months! There was absolutely no tension in his body. No cramping or stiffness. No aches or pains. Hot damn, he’s not sure the cause, but he was very appreciative of the effect.
Once his vision focused a bit, his gaze immediately sought out the giant bed in the middle of the cabin. If he’d been expecting to find a mound of sleeping brother there, color him shocked at seeing Dean sitting up Indian style in the middle of the massive mattress. His older brother had an intensely pensive look on his face, and was fiddling with the black leather bracelets on his wrist.
Sam furrowed his brow. Pensive Dean was never a good thing. Pensive Dean was often ‘I’m about to do something very stupid’ Dean. Sam didn’t like that look one bit. Groaning to announce his own state of wakefulness, the younger Winchester pushed himself up from the couch to a sitting position. He let his head fall back to give the illusion that he was still half asleep, but left his eyes slightly slit open to analyze the rest of the room.
Castiel and Balthazar sat silently at the kitchen table, and the weak filtered light making its way through the lace curtains indicated it was very early morning. There was a strange tension between the two angels that he didn’t remember being there when he fell asleep the night before. Cas looked positively angst-ridden. Balthazar just appeared to be lost in his own thoughts. Or constipated. Hard to tell. Sam wasn’t as used to that particular angel’s facial expressions.
He remembered the last thoughts he’d had before passing out on the couch the night previous. The equation of Dean and Cas. No matter how exhausted and caffeine-high crashed he’d been the previous evening … that equation still made complete sense to Sam.
Dean + Cas = Love.
Seriously, how had he not seen it before? It was perfect. Dean needed someone to lean on, depend on, confide in … but at the same time be able to take care of. Focus on. Provide for, in his own kind of backwards way. Castiel could use all those things. In fact, he seemed to downright delight in them on the rare occasion that Dean opened up to the angel.
Not that Cas actually needed any of that. Not that Cas couldn’t take care of himself. Sam didn’t mean that, not at all. Truthfully, the other reason it was so perfect was the mere fact that he didn’t. Cas was a total badass that took no shit from Dean Winchester. Hell, when it came down to Dean making a monumentally stupid judgment call, Cas had proven that he had no problem with beating some sense into the hunter.
At the same time, though, when something or someone made the mistake of threatening Dean … Cas would go all Doberman Pincher crazy on their ass until he knew that Dean was safe. Really, in the completely FUBAR’ed world the Winchesters resided in … it was the perfect relationship. Now what the hell should he do about it? Getting Dean to talk about things like ‘feelings’ and ‘relationships’ was about as easy as getting Castiel to understand obscure pop cultural references.
Sam was totally fucked. He supposed he could throw them both into a closet with some condoms and lube, bar the door and hope they figure it out, but OH MY GOD THE MENTAL IMAGE OF THAT THOUGHT WAS NOW BURNED INTO HIS RETINA’S NEVER TO BE WASHED AWAY AND WHY DID HE HAVE TO GO THERE? WHY? WHYYYYYYY?
Licking his dry lips, Sam grimaced at the taste in his mouth once more. He needed his toothbrush. And some industrial strength toothpaste. The small noise from his mouth must have finally alerted Dean to his conscious state, because his older brother was turning towards him with a sudden, blinding (and completely forced) smile.
“Wakey, wakey, Sammy-puddin’-pie! How was your nap? You were out laid out like a little bitch!”
Sam rolled his eyes to disguise his sudden, terrifying sense of panic. Dean was too happy. He was overdoing the flippant attitude. He was planning something. Or already had something planned and was just waiting to execute it. And if he was going this far to make Sam think all was well … then it was a plan he knew that Sam was going to really, really dislike. Or try to keep him from doing altogether.
He cursed himself a little for falling asleep so deeply, because it was painfully obvious that something very important had occurred during his slumber. When Dean had spoken, Castiel’s gaze had immediately shot over to watch the man on the bed. Balthazar just continued to watch Cas. Sam sighed wearily and stood up from the couch, stretching his arms high above his head and arching his back slightly to get the most out of the movement.
He caught Dean just watching his actions with a small little smile on his lips. Fucking shit. Sam was running theories through his brain at break-neck speed now. Something big had changed. Something was different now, but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it was. Dammit. Why did he have to fall asleep!?
“What’s up, guys? Did I miss something?”
The resounding chorus of ‘No’s’ in the room pretty much guaranteed themselves to be falsehoods. Dean looked at Cas, and Cas looked at Balthazar, and Balthazar looked at Dean. Then back to Cas. Who went back to staring at Dean, but a little squintier eyed this time. Then Dean’s eyes flitted briefly to Balthazar before returning to Sam. It was so just this side of fucking comical that Sam vaguely wondered when the laugh-track would start up.
Sam brought both his hands up to rub once down his face before jamming his fingers through his hair in a highly irritated manner. He smacked his rank ass lips together once, then crossed his arms and tried for his sternest face. Dean called it ‘Bitch face #0 - the Prime Bitch face’, and didn’t Sam just love his brother’s ridiculous sense of humor sometimes?
“Look, I can obviously tell that something’s chang-”
“I really want a cheeseburger.”
Sam’s tirade stuttered to a stop as he looked back at his older brother perched now on the end of the massive mattress.
“What?”
Dean’s whole face lit up in a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes, which sent another spike of fear deep down into Sam’s gut, before Dean damn near bounded from the bed and into the kitchen.
“A cheeseburger, Sam? Surely you remember what a cheeseburger is?”
The younger Winchester watched, completely fucking stunned, as Dean trotted over to the fridge and popped it open with something that closely approximated glee. Sam turned to the angels sitting not ten feet from the currently rummaging form of his brother and sought out Cas’ gaze. The other man turned briefly to Sam, eyebrows clearly fighting not to reach his hairline, before going back to observing Dean’s fumbling motions. Sam caught Balthazar’s gaze, too, but all he received from that arena was a vague shrug and a slight smirk.
“Dude, I’m totally fucking starving. There’s nothing in here but some ketchup and pickles that look older than I am. Seriously. Cheeseburger. Want.”
The door to the fridge closed with a squish and Dean turned and smiled at Castiel.
“Cas! Come on, man! Cheeseburger? You know you want one, too! Don’t deny it!”
Dean’s grin was all bravado and way too many teeth for Sam’s liking, but his brother just completely ignored the three flabbergasted looks currently directed his way. Cas cleared his throat quietly and licked his lips.
“I … I … suppose?”
Dean clapped his hands together and chuckled. A troop of shivers climbed up Sam’s spine like a march of ants.
“Awesome! Balthazar! Be a pal and go fetch some burgers for the mongering hordes!”
The angel in question blinked once at Dean, apparently in shock, and then opened his mouth to no doubt spew forth a string of insults and curses. Just before the first vowel was set to breeze past his lips, however, the older angel froze. His eyes widened slowly, but did not break contact from Dean. Sam darted his gaze back and forth between the two and desperately tried to figure out why his brother and Balthazar appeared to be having a soulful conversation with nothing more than their eyes.
“RIGHT!”
Sam practically jumped in place at Balthazar’s sudden outburst. The angel quickly stood and made a big production of dusting invisible dirt off his trousers.
“Burgers it is then. Back in a few, lovelies!”
With that, he was gone, and Sam was really fucking confused.
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~~~DEAN~~~
***********************
Despite being completely and utterly exhausted and wanting no more than to sleep for a couple fucking years the previous evening, Dean never fell into a slumber after making his decision. He’d feigned sleep for several hours after the angels’ discussion, but sometime around four in the morning had given up and quietly lifted himself to a seated position in the middle of the bed.
Hard to believe that just twenty-four hours previous his life had been fairly normal. Well, fairly normal in so much as a Winchester could ever hope for. Now he, quite literally, had the weight of the world on his shoulders. Again. This was his last day on Earth. Again. A shiver skittered down his spine as he remembered having a similar day only a handful of years ago. The echoed cries of a hellhound reverberated in his memory.
Sucks to experience two days like this in a lifetime. Most people don’t even have to experience it once. Knowing that you’re going to die, violently and painfully, and by your own fucking choice. His eyes were burning with developing tears, and he mentally tried to shake himself out of a downward slide.
Couldn’t let Sam know. Couldn’t let Cas know. Not until it was too late for either of them to do anything to stop him. Dean sighed and brought his hands up to rub at his stinging eyes. He couldn’t wait long on this. The angels would waste no time trying to find him. Going after Bobby, or Lisa and Ben, anyone that might have known him. He had to end it soon if he was going to end it at all.
Sniffing softly once under his breath, Dean turned his gaze to the two current angels in his company. Cas and Balthazar were facing each other, seated on the heavy wooden chairs that flanked the kitchen table. Neither were talking, but there were a couple empty bottles of wine strewn across the table’s artfully distressed surface.
A small smile lifted the corner of the elder Winchester’s mouth. He hoped that Cas had at least had some of those empty bottles. He could use it. When his Grace had touched the Grace inside Dean, it had been obvious how upset and torn up the angel had been with the entire situation. Funny … how sometimes Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel even liked him, and then the angel would prove that, yeah, apparently he actually did.
Dean looked away from his silent companions, and toward the massive form of his little brother sprawled out on the couch. Sam’s mouth was parted slightly, and rather than actual snoring, he was just breathing loudly into the leather cushion. He’d apparently been so tired that he hadn’t bothered removing his jacket or shoes, just crashed out into oblivion.
Dean was maybe a little jealous, but then Sam had looked like he needed the rest. Strung out and wrung out as he’d appeared. This time the smile that graced his lips was full on. Damn, but Dean loved his little brother like a mad thing. Sure, he hadn’t liked soulless Sammy very much, and Lucifer Sammy even less. But in all those incarnations, he’d still been Dean’s little Sammy, and he was always going to save him. No matter what.
He just hoped that when all this played out and was done, Sam would get out of hunting and maybe try Stanford again. Or at least a wife and rugrats. Something. Anything. Maybe he should make Sam promise him to get out, just like his brother had done to Dean before throwing himself into the fucking pit with Lucifer. Wouldn’t that be some poetic justice? Hmph, ain’t payback a bitch, Sammy?
Slowly Dean brought his attention back to the quilted comforter covering the bed where he currently sat. He stared at the spot directly in front of his crossed legs and let his eyes un-focus while he drifted into this own mind for a bit. He concentrated on his little friend the moth that still beat it’s wings softly and persistently inside his chest, to remind him there were angels in the room with him.
Never one for delving too deep into things, he just figured that the little staccato beat was some small sliver of God’s consciousness. Somehow the Grace inside him had a small trace of … awareness. That would explain why it accepted Dean, didn’t burn him to nothing, why it let Cas mold it, why it made the hunter feel an extremely intense sense of pride and ownership of the two Heavenly beings seated a couple dozen feet away.
Closing his eyes, he concentrated on Castiel and Balthazar. Inside him, inside that little beat of the moth’s wings against his breastbone, he could differentiate between the presence of the two. Reaching for Balthazar first, Dean imagined a small spindly finger made of smoke touching the thrum of life he felt from the angel.
Warm spiced rum and gingersnap cookies.
Balthazar.
Cracking his eyes open and slanting them towards the table, he wondered if the angel could feel what he was doing. Balthazar continued to sip slowly from the remaining bottle of wine and stare blankly at Castiel, so apparently he couldn’t feel Dean using God’s Grace to touch his own. Dean pulled the Grace away from the angel and shifted his gaze across the room to the couch were Sam lay sprawled across. Could he feel people, too? The way he felt the angels?
He thought of Sam, thought of everything he knew of his brother, and how much he meant to him. Then he imagined the ghost-like tendril of grace reaching towards that knowledge … and suddenly there it was. There was Sam.
Fresh home-baked bread and cinnamon apples.
Samuel.
And that was Sam. Damn. He could feel him now. Feel his brother’s battered and sectioned soul. Feel the wall splitting it down the middle. Feel the scratches on the surface that meant Sam just couldn’t leave well enough alone, as usual. Dean swallowed thickly and concentrated on the little moth.
Can we fix that?
Fix that?
He did his best to somehow ‘point out’ the wall in Sam’s soul with his mind. If it felt like he was playing some sort of demented version of mental Pictionary, well fuck … he was new to this whole ‘power of God’ thing, you know?
That wall. That soul. Can we heal that?
Heal that?
Yes. Make it all better?
Make it better?
Please. Before I leave him … I need to know that it’s all better.
Better.
There was a burst of something that sent shockwaves through his system. He felt God’s Grace snap some of the restraints Castiel had placed like they were nothing more than silly string attempting to hold a raging bull in place. Then the Grace was flowing to the sense of ‘Sam’ that he’d touched before. It gently grasped the battered soul and enveloped it, caressed it, whispered words of love and devotion and gratitude into its light. It told the soul what a good job it had done, how proud it was, and that it shouldn’t need to suffer so for its sacrifice.
Before Dean knew it, the Graced had pulled back inside him, contented and warm.
Better.
He had to choke down the sob that fought to explode from his throat, because he could feel it. He could feel Sammy’s remade, unmarred soul. His eyes were burning with tears, but he clenched them tightly and begged them not to fall.
Thank you.
Make it all better. Fix it. Fix it all better. Put it all to rights.
Yeah, little buddy, that’s exactly what we’re going to do.
The moth made a happy little squeak inside his head, accompanied by an enthusiastic flutter.
Castiel?
Dean blinked at the sudden change of topic. The change of topic … inside his own head. He was sooooo not going to think too hard about that.
Castiel?
The voice was a little more insistent this time, and Dean suddenly realized that he’d reached out to touch Balthazar and Sam, but not Cas. Well, he supposed he could remedy that. He began to unfurl the tendril of Grace towards Cas and the little moth let out another pleased squeak. Closing his eyes, Dean concentrated on keeping the angel oblivious to his presence and moved the thinnest, barely there tendril to just briefly skim across the surface-
THUNDERSTORMS. RAIN. FRESHLY MOWED GRASS. FRESH PEACHES WITH COLD THICK CREAM. WARM SUGAR COOKIES. SKIN AND SWEAT AND HEAT AND SEX SEX SEX-
Dean broke away with a gasp, eyes flying open to immediately seek out Castiel across the room.
HOLY SHIT!!
CASTIEL!!
WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!?!
CASTIEL!!!
The angel was staring straight back at him, eyes wide and mouth parted, gaspy little breaths making his slighter frame shudder. A strong shiver trumpeted down Dean’s spine and the little moth was apparently doing the Lambada in his chest cavity. There was something else too, and it took him a couple seconds of staring into Cas’ eyes, pupils blown wide, to realize what it was.
Cas’ Grace. The Grace that Cas used to stitch him back together. He could feel it now. Inside of him. Dancing and twirling and singing in time with the little moth. They twirled around each other, apparently in utter fucking glee at being connected.
“Dean.”
Fuck. Cas’ voice was rough and raw and deeper than usual. It was sex voice. It was totally sex voice. It sent a spike of pleasure straight through Dean’s entire nervous system. And seriously, the fucking thing in his chest was MOTHRA now, and feeling like it was going to explode out of him any second.
“Dean … what are you doing?”
The angel’s voice was still slightly breathless. Dean closed his eyes to break contact and panted softly, the sound almost obscene in the quiet room. He licked his dry lips and willed his voice to come out as steady as possible.
“S-Sorry, Cas. Sorry. Was just … trying to figure something out.”
He could tell that the angel wanted to demand a better explanation, and Balthazar was practically vibrating with curiosity, but instead he slammed a mental guillotine down on the connection between him and Cas. Then he scooted on the bed until his back was to the kitchen and he was facing Sammy on the couch.
There were two pairs of eyes practically boring holes into the back of his head, and a mopey little moth now beating mournfully in his soul, but he ignored them all.
PART SIX