On These More Familiar Roads--Chapter Four (4/5)--SPN Fic

Oct 02, 2013 20:39

Navigation: Chapter Three--Chapter Four--Epilogue


“Well, well, well, don’t you two make a lovely picture?”

Cas starts awake, sitting up before his brain can catch up with his reflexes. Beside him, Dean groans, and opens one eye. “Cas?” He rolls over, following Cas’ gaze, then freezes. “Crap.”

Crowley’s standing in front of the TV, smiling down at them. “I’d say I was surprised, but really, there’ve been rumors of you two’s blasphemous love affair for years. I assumed you started buggering each other ages ago.”

Dean sits, pulling the blanket up to cover as much of himself and Cas as he can. That just makes Crowley’s amusement grow. “Please, don’t bother on my account. You’re not quite my type, princess.” He jerks his head at Cas. “Angel, there, now that’s another story, but that ship has long since sailed.”

“What have you found out?” Dean’s practically growling, but his voice is still bleary with sleep, lessening the effect. He roots around under the pillow and pulls out his pistol. “Start talking or I start shooting you full of holes. It might not kill you, but I bet it’ll sting like Hell.”

“I found out who has your brother.” He raises his eyebrows, and Dean, still frowning, lowers the gun. “Like we suspected, he’s fallen victim to a group of old Lucifer’s fan boys. As best as I can tell, they need him for some ritual that’s set to go down on the solstice.”

“The solstice?” Cas glances over at Dean. “That’s in two days.”

“Exactly. Which is why you boys need to go deep, deep underground until it’s passed.”

“And let the ritual take place? No fucking way.”

Crowley’s frowning now too, annoyance written in every line on his face. “Use your brain, you numbskull. Why would anyone bother resurrecting two Winchesters if they only needed one?”

“If the demons need Dean for the ritual, then why is he still here?” Cas’ thoughts flash back to the condemned apartment and the way Dean’s captors had laid him out like he was the centerpiece of some kind of twisted altar.

Crowley shrugs. “Maybe it was easier to let him run around chasing his own tail than try and capture him before the party.”

Cas slides out of bed, ignoring Crowley’s appreciative look as he pulls on his pants. “Then we need to demon-proof, make amulets, maybe move somewhere safer.”

“I’d recommend doing all those things.”

“The ritual,” Dean says, “what’s it supposed to do?”

“Do you want my best guess?”

Dean nods.

“There are many powerful demons that my forces have imprisoned in Hell. It takes strong magic to break through those bonds, but as archangels’ vessels, you and Sam have powerful blood, especially since Sam’s still got just a dash of Lucifer’s own influence running through him. Once, our little Moose could have been the Boy King, and Hell remembers its own.”

“Great, well, that’s just perfect.”

“We’ll stop it, Dean.” Cas turns to Crowley. “You will continue to search for where they’re holding Sam?”

“I’ll do my best,” Crowley says mildly, and Cas and Dean both stare at him. “What? If this bleeding ritual works, then I’ll be up to my eyeballs in over-zealous Lucifer-worshippers, and that’s the last thing I want. Believe it or not, I’m actually on your side here.”

“Oh, I’m sure you are.”

Crowley shakes his head. “Put some pants on, Dean.” He disappears.

“Well, fuck.”

Cas can’t help but agree.

They leave the motel room as soon as Crowley leaves. The recession has hit hard enough that it’s not difficult to find an out-of-the-way empty house in the next decent sized town they come across. It’s not much, just a singlewide trailer, but the small size works in their favor-there’s only so much space they have to demon-proof.

Cas starts work on painting the sigils while Dean brings in the weapons from the Impala. Dean’s cheeks are bright red from the cold when he gets back inside, and as soon as Cas has finished with the spray paint, he kisses him until the flush is coming from something else.

After the house is secure there isn’t much left to take care of. Dinner comes from a cold can of baked beans, and afterwards, there’s nothing to do but huddle together and wait for morning.

“I hate this,” Dean says. They’re wrapped in a couple of cheap, slightly musty sleeping bags from the trunk that Dean had zipped together. The electricity to the house had been cut off and their only light source is a battery powered Colman lantern. “Somewhere out there, Sammy’s being prepared for some freaky demon ritual, and all I can do is hope that Crowley will come through and rescue him.”

“We can’t risk the demons finding you,” Cas says softly. “Crowley had a point about them needing you as well as Sam. They want you to try and save him.”

Dean starts to say something, but it gets bitten back as he grunts in pain, curling forward to rest his head in his hands.

“Dean? What’s wrong?”

“Vision,” Dean grits out. Cas sits up and pulls Dean against his chest. Dean’s muscles are tight and he shudders in Cas’ hold. Finally, the vision passes and Dean relaxes. Cas helps him slide back down until he’s lying on his side, facing Cas.

“It’s like they’re taunting me,” Dean whispers. “All I saw was Sam, broken and bleeding, and then-then he wasn’t. It was like he looked right at me, and he-he smiled. I think it’s finally happened. I think the demons finally got him to crack, and just in the nick of time.” He laughs softly, but it’s hollow and humorless.

Cas edges closer to him and wraps his arms around him tightly. He doesn’t feel like sleeping, which is probably partly because it’s not actually that late yet. It’s just another reminder of how close they are to the solstice.

Over the next few hours, Dean’s body freezes up a few more times, leaving him shivering and gasping when the vision passes.

“It’s too late,” he says after the third vision. “I don’t think he’s Sam anymore. I’ve failed.”

“We’ll find a way,” Cas murmurs, but it’s feeling less and less like they will. Even if they survive past the set time for the ritual, the chances are that Sam’s lost now. He’d known since the first time he’d seen Sam just how close to the darkness that boy was. Over the years, he’d proved to be far braver and stronger than Cas would ever have guessed, but there’s only so much pain that a human can take and still remain sane. It wasn’t so hard to believe, after everything he’d been through, that Sam had reached his breaking point.

Somehow, Cas finally starts to drift off. It’s Dean’s sudden tensing that jars him awake.

“Did you have another vis-umh!”

Dean presses his hand against Cas’ mouth and whispers in his ear, “I think I heard something.”

Cas stills, trying to hear something beyond Dean’s breathing and the rustle of the wind outside.

If it is wind.

Something scrapes against the walls, a raspy scratch like branches caught in the wind, but there’re in the plains of Kansas-there isn’t a tree for miles.

Dean jerks his head and eases out of the sleeping bag. He picks up Ruby’s knife and passes Cas his sword. Cas flicks off the lantern, and they stand back to back in the darkness.

The scratching stops. Cas’ breath sounds unnaturally loud in the silence, and his blood is pounding in his ears.

There’s another noise from outside, a thud of boots on the wooden porch.

“Dean?” The voice coming from the outside of the door is painfully familiar. Behind him, Dean’s breath leaves him in a strangled gasp that’s almost a sob.

“Dean, I know you’re in there. Why don’t you come outside and we’ll talk?” There’s a short pause. “I’ve missed you, Dean.” The voice that sounds, far, far to much like Sam is pleading now, almost wistful, and Cas can’t imagine what’s running through Dean’s head now. He guesses it’s close to what’s he can’t stop thinking of-Dean’s last vision of Sam joining the demons. “Please, come out?”

“Why don’t you come inside?” Dean calls out, and his voice is remarkably steady. “Don’t know if you noticed, but it’s a bit chilly out there.”

“Very funny, Dean,” Sam says. “Fine, if you’re going to be difficult…” Everything goes quiet.

“What’s-” Cas starts, then breaks off. The house starts to shake, and the wind comes up again, screeching around the corners of the house, rattling the windows and the gutters. The walls start to crack a moment later. At it’s first just spider webs radiating from around the door and windows, then they grow into jagged dark lines that split the walls and snake across the floor towards the devil’s traps, ripping through the lines.

The big window in the living rooms shatters inward and Cas throws up his hands to protect his face from the flying glass. The house is bathed in light as red as Hellfire, an otherworldly spotlight. The wind picks up, ripping the roof off in chunks. He knows the second the last demon warding goes, because he can hear Sam laughing as the walls collapse outwards, leaving him and Dean exposed.

He turns towards Dean, but Dean pushes him away. “Run, Cas! Just get out of here!”

Cas takes a stumbling step, more from the force of Dean’s shove than anything else, but even if he’d wanted to, he couldn’t have gone far. The house is surrounded, but not with demons. As best as he can tell, the people surrounding the house in a loose ring are just that: people. There are probably a few dozen of them, and their dark hooded robes look like every bad cliché Cas has ever heard. Between them and Cas stands Sam. Somehow, he looks taller than he had before, and when the light catches his eyes, they flare a bright, sickly yellow.

“Okay, fine, you have me.” Dean raises his hands in surrender, Ruby’s knife clattering the floor. “Why don’t you let Cas go?”

Sam rolls his eyes at them, and for a second he looks like his old self. “Of course, Cas is here. Do you remember that he was with you when I died? The two of you ran off to kill Roman and I didn’t have anyone to watch my back. You chose him over me, and I got my neck broken by a Leviathan. Great job looking out for me, Dean, really stellar.”

“You’re not my brother.” Dean’s close to desperate, and Cas takes a step towards him.

“You’d like to think that, wouldn’t you?” Sam smirks. “Come on, you’ve seen enough things that looked like me to tell the difference! Look me in the eye and tell me I’m not Sam.”

Cas would like to think he could recognize the real Sam when he saw him, but he just can’t be sure. He waits for Dean to speak, but it never comes. Dean’s eyes meet Sam’s, and it’s Dean’s gaze that drops first. His shoulders slump and his entire body radiates defeat. It’s all the answer Cas needs.

Sam smiles, wide and satisfied. “We’ll take both of them.”

Cas tenses, expecting some kind of demonic onslaught, but that doesn’t come either. Instead, there’s a rush of air followed by a sharp pain on the side of his neck. His hand goes to his throat and he pulls out the slender metal dart. He frowns and holds it up, already half-dazed.

“Dammit, Cas,” Dean starts, then grunts in pain. He staggers sideways into Cas and they both fall. Cas braces himself for the impact, but he never feels it. He’s unconscious by the time he hits the floor.

It’s still dark when he wakes up.

Cas stretches, feeling every stiff muscle, then freezes when his hand touches cold metal. He’s lying on his back on a hard, uneven surface, and he’s not tied up. That doesn’t matter, because it only takes a few seconds of careful exploration to realize that he’s in some kind of cell and the metal he’d found is one of the bars of the door.

He tries to sit up, but regrets it when his head pounds and a surge of nausea hits him. He’s able to breath through the queasiness, but the headache throbs stubbornly. The air is stagnant and musty, and he guesses he’s underground somewhere.

There’s rustling a few feet away and Cas draws back. “Dean?” He keeps his voice low. He hadn’t heard any sign of other people, but he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone either.

“Mumph?” The words are unintelligible, but it’s clearly Dean. Cas reaches out and inches across the rough stone floor. He finds Dean by feel.

“Are you alright?”

“Oh, I’m just peachy,” Dean says roughly, and moans. “My brother’s a demon, we’re prisoners in a freakin’ dungeon, and we’re right where they want us for a ritual that could destroy life as we know it. Yeah, I’m fucking fantastic.”

“We might still be able to stop the ritual. The demons have humans working for them-we could overpower them, exorcise or kill the demons, and escape.” Cas pauses, considering. “Though the likelihood of any of that succeeding seems slim.”

“You’re just a regular ray of sunshine, aren’t you?”

Cas closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. “I’m only trying to help, Dean.”

For a long second, he thinks Dean’s just going to ignore him, but then there’s a muttered “Sorry” from the shadows.

“If I could see the lock, I might be able to pick it,” Dean says, after a few more quiet minutes have passed.

“Could-” There’s the echo of heavy footsteps from outside their cell. It’s more of the robed humans, a group of six armed with what Cas is guessing are the tranquilizer guns they’d been shot with at the house and Tasers, which seem at odds with the blazing torches several of them are carrying. One of them settles their torch into a bracket on the wall opposite from their cell door, and its flickering light throws grotesque shadows across the floor.

“The messenger of our Lord wishes to see you,” one of them says, and unlocks the door. Cas takes a step forwards, and the man shakes his head. “Not you. Just him.” He points at Dean.

“Okay, I’m coming, just don’t shoot.” Dean catches Cas’ eyes, then deliberately looks back down at the floor where he’d been sitting, his gaze flicking back to their captors fast enough for them to pass the look off as coincidence.

Cas stays where he is, watching them lead Dean away for as long as he can. They’d left the torch on the wall, and Cas waits until they’re out of hearing, then turns to where Dean had been.

Something thin and metallic glints against the darkness of the stone floor, and Cas holds it up into the light. It’s one of Dean’s lock picks and, after a few seconds of searching, he finds the others.

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas whispers.

The firelight isn’t as bright as Cas would have liked, and the lock picks feel clumsy in his fingers. He’s never picked a lock before, but he’s watched Dean several times, and he’s familiar with the theory. Still, the knowledge of how to pick a lock is one thing. Having to pick one in a dark dungeon while the threat of certain death hangs over you is completely different matter.

He works on the lock for a long time. It’s a big, old-fashioned padlock that he has a feeling Dean would be able to crack in seconds. It’s not that easy for Cas. About half an hour in, he’s reduced to desperately poking the lock picks into the keyhole and hoping that something catches. He’s almost given up hope when the lock clicks. He eases the hasp open, hands trembling.

The picks go into his pocket and he eases the torch out of its bracket. He holds it up, trying to orient himself. As far as he can see, his cell is one of many lining a long, narrow corridor. They’d taken Dean away down the left-hand side, but it looks like the cells stretch further down to the right. Cas frowns, hesitating. He needs to rescue Dean, but he can’t leave if the demons are holding any other prisoners down here. He turns right.

The further he goes, the more oppressive the air gets. Where he and Dean had been imprisoned, the air had been dank, but breathable. What he hadn’t realized at first was that he wasn’t just going out, he was also going down. The deeper he gets, the fouler the air becomes. The smell of sulfur overlays everything else, but under it there’s the creeping stench of death and the coppery tang of blood. Cas’ nausea swells again, and he has to bend over, supporting himself against the damp wall with one hand, until it passes.

The cells are all empty, and coming down here is starting to feel like a bad idea. He should have just followed after Dean-he should turn back now-but something keeps pushing him on. When the passage suddenly ends, Cas almost runs into the wall, too absorbed in checking the cells to realize that he’s hit a dead end. He backs up a few paces and stares at the wall. It’s smooth, damp stone just like the rest of the tunnel, but there has to be something else here. He couldn’t have come all this way and wasted all this time for nothing.

He takes a step forwards, and something shifts and clanks under his foot. There’s a rustling noise beneath Cas and he lowers the torch. There’s a grill in the floor, no bigger than a manhole cover and held fast with the same kind of lock as the cell doors. There’s movement beyond the bars, but the light isn’t strong enough to show him any details.

“Hello?”

“There’s no chance you’ll just fuck off, is there?” The voice is quiet, raspy, but still defiant. It’s also impossible.

“What the Hell are you?”

“Look, you’ve won. I get it. You don’t have to gloat.”

Cas hesitates, then sets the torch against the wall and starts to work on the lock. He has to be sure.

This lock comes free easier than the first. He picks up the torch again before he opens the hatch, thrusting it down into the space as soon as there’s room.

The figure in the cell below shies away from the flame, one hand coming up to shield his eyes. The man is dirty and bloodied, his hair tangled into snarls, but he’s still immediately recognizable.

“Sam?” Cas breathes, and the man looks up.

“Cas-Castiel?”

Cas has no idea why he’d ever believed it had really been Sam the night before. Maybe he does know the younger Winchester better than he realized, or maybe more of his angelic abilities had lingered than he’d thought, because this feels like Sam. He’s staring up at Cas and smiling, open and honest, and he’s completely different from the Sam that had captured them.

“Seriously, I can’t tell you how happy I am to see you right now. I mean, the real you. The demon-” Sam breaks off, his gaze drifting to over Cas’ shoulder. “Is Dean with you?”

Cas shakes his head. “I’m guessing he’s with a demon that looks more than a little like you.” It’s starting to come together. It’s no secret that Sam had always walked a thin line with the dark side, and that it had nearly torn the brothers apart. If the demons truly wanted to utterly destroy Dean, then what better way than to make him think his greatest nightmare had come true?

“We need to get to them. If they have Dean, then they must be almost ready for the ritual,” Sam says.

Cas sets the torch back in on the wall, then takes a deep breath and sends up an unheard prayer that he’s making the right decision. He reaches down, and lets Sam grabs his hand. Sam is surprisingly easy to pull up. He’s lost weight during his captivity, and the plain shirt and pants hang even looser on him than they had on Dean back in Seattle.

Sam stumbles a little as he climbs to his feet, and Cas reflexively reaches out to steady him.

“Thanks,” Sam says, then laughs softly. “I can’t believe you’re really here.” He’s still standing there, looking down at Cas with the same relaxed smile he’d had before. He starts forward, and Cas tenses. Sam’s arms wrap around him in a tight hug and he relaxes. Sam pulls away much quicker than Dean usually does. “Let’s get going.”

Cas carries the torch as they walk. Sam’s still a little unsteady, and Cas isn’t sure just how badly he’s injured. There are actually quite a few things he’s not sure about. “So why is there a demon who looks like you?”

“His name’s Ornias. I guess he’s got some kind of shape-shifting ability, and he can get inside your head, make you believe that whatever you’re seeing is real, even when you know it shouldn’t be.” Sam bites his lip. “It worked on me for a while, but eventually my brain, I dunno, adjusted to it. That’s how I could tell it was really you.”

“It could be a lingering effect from the demon blood.”

“At least I get one decent side effect.” He gestures towards Cas, hands casting wild shadows on the walls. “What about you? You seem less crazy, and, um, different.”

“I’m human,” Cas says quietly. “I have been for a while now.”

“Oh,” Sam says in a small voice. “That would explain it.” He clears his throat. “Are you, uh, doing okay?”

Cas smiles. “I’ve been surviving. Though we’ve only been reunited for a few weeks, Dean’s been quite educational.” And that sounds far more like an innuendo than he’d intended. “As has the television and the internet.” That doesn’t help at all.

Sam chuckles. “I’m sure they all have.”

“What do you know about the demon’s plan?” Cas tries to ask gently. He’s not sure if Sam is really doing as well as he seems, or if he’s really just one wrong push away from breaking down entirely.

“I know that they’re trying to free some of Lucifer’s old lieutenants that are imprisoned in Hell. They’re trying to create a gateway, and they’re planning on using me.” Sam staggers slightly, catching himself on the wall. “They also need blood for the ritual and to feed the demons afterwards, lots of it and the right kind, and that’s why they brought back Dean. It had to be powerful, and anything less than the blood of an archangel’s vessel would corrupt the spell.”

Sam stops, doubling over to hold his knees. Cas turns and holds the torch up to get a better look at him.

“Are you hurt?” Cas asks, and Sam shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, but his voice is still shaky. He lets out a ragged breath, then straightens up and keeps walking like nothing happened. “The ritual has to start at sunrise on the Winter Solstice exactly. At that moment, Earth and Hell will be in the right mystical alignment for the spell to work. If they miss that window, they won’t have another opportunity for about two hundred years. It sounds like there’s more involved than just the solstice.”

“Apparently.”

“Is there anyone else coming?”

Cas hesitates. “Crowley was trying to find you. I think we can trust that he wants to stop these demons, but I doubt he’ll reach us in time.”

“So it’s just us. Team Free Will back together.” Sam smiles, and even through his weariness, there’s a little bit of optimism there. Cas just hopes it isn’t misplaced.

The walk back up doesn’t take long, even with Sam’s unsteady gait. He keeps tripping on the uneven floor, but he lets Cas help support his weight after Cas catches him for the fifth time. Cas and Dean’s cell is still empty when they reach it. Cas hadn’t really been expecting Dean to be back, but he’d been wishing he would be. The sooner Sam and Dean can be reunited, the better.

Their cell is closer to the end of the tunnel than Cas had realized, but a heavy wooden door blocks the way out. It’s locked, and Cas takes a second to futilely try and force it before he pulls out the lock picks. He jiggles the picks like he had on the others, trusting more to luck than skill, and swears quietly when nothing happens.

“Here.” Sam crouches down next to him, wincing. “Let me.”

Cas hands the picks over to him, feeling a little like the over-confidant child who still needs the adults to fix their messes. He knows it’s groundless-Sam’s been picking locks practically his whole life and Cas had never even held a lock pick before today, but it’s just another of the little things that would have been so easy for him before.

Sam’s hands are shaking a little, but it only takes a few deft movements before the lock clicks. He smiles at Cas. “Hey, don’t worry. You’ll get it.”

“Maybe,” Cas says. “If we survive this.”

He opens the door.

On the other side is the largest cavern he’s seen in a long, long time. He’d been in larger as an angel, when little things like pressure and hundreds of feet of solid rock separating him from the surface had been trivial. Then, they’d been little more than set dressing, something to take in, but not really see. Now, all Cas can do is stare.

His first thought is that it’s like a cathedral. The ceiling is high and vaulted, and the glistening limestone of the walls is almost translucent as it reflects the light of the braziers and torches lining the walls and spaced through the hall. An intricate flagstone mosaic spelling out ancient warding rituals covers the floor. It’s no wonder Crowley couldn’t find this place-Cas is sure that given time he could bypass the cavern’s shields, but until then, this place would be invisible to him or to any other prying eyes.

For all its grandeur, the cavern is almost deserted. There’s a dark tunnel leading out of it at the end closer to them, which Cas guesses is the exit, but the only occupants are at the far end, a good two hundred yards away. There’s about half a dozen hooded figures there, clustered around what must be an altar set on a tall dais. They’re too far away for Cas to make out any other details in the dim light, but the acoustics in the cave are incredible.

“I can’t believe you never understood how little I needed you. ” It’s Sam’s voice, but it’s the demon wearing his face talking. “I mean, come on, all this power was just waiting for me and there you were, dragging me down with you.”

There’s a pained grunt, and Cas doesn’t need Sam-the real Sam’s-sharp inhale to know that it’s Dean.

“Sam,” Dean gasps. Cas can’t see him, and he has an unpleasant feeling it’s because he’s on the ground. “Please. I don’t know what they’ve promised you, but you can still stop this.”

There’s a tap on Cas’ shoulder and he turns away from the tableau at the end of the hall. Sam’s gaze is sure and focused; whatever pain he’s in, he’s hiding it well. He’s trying to signal something to Cas using the military hand signs he’d presumably learned from his father, but to Cas, it’s just meaningless hand waving.

He shrugs and Sam pauses for a second, frowning, then gives up on the formal signs entirely in favor of more direct gestures. After that, it doesn’t take long for Cas to decipher Sam’s meaning: Cas will continue towards the altar on the side of the hall that they’re on, and Sam will take the other side.

Sam carefully slides a second torch out of its bracket. They’ve been quiet, and hopefully the light is diffused enough in the cave that their approach won’t be noticed until it’s too late. Of course, once they do attack, they’ll be armed with nothing but frankly flimsy-looking pieces of wood. Their odds aren’t the best, but Cas can’t imagine leaving Dean here, even if it would be the prudent choice. Besides, there’s no way of knowing what’s beyond the other passageway. Even if it is the way out, it’s probably guarded. It’s more or less the same choice Cas has always had when it comes to the Winchesters, and his decision is no different.

He edges along the wall, trying to balance speed and silence. Every soft footfall sounds deafening, and he’s sure the demons can hear his breathing.

The demon that looks like Sam-Ornias-is still talking, but Cas tries not to listen. He’s already heard enough to know that the demon is throwing back every line that’s ever hurt Dean, playing on every fear about his brother he might harbor. Still, if it’s trying to get Dean to turn against Sam, Cas isn’t sure it’s working. He is trying to hear Dean and, from the snatches he’s catching, Dean’s still trying to get through to whatever he thinks is left of Sam. Cas just hopes the real Sam is hearing it too.

If he looks hard enough, Sam is barely visible on the other side of the hall. Cas reaches the group by the altar first and waits, pressed against the wall, watching for Sam’s signal. He still can’t see Dean-the people in robes are clustered too close together, forming a ring around the dais, Dean, and the demons.

Ornias has his back to the circle, but the other demon is facing towards Cas, his eyes glowing a dull red in the torchlight. He’s unremarkable, a balding man with a bland face that Cas would forget as soon as he looked away if he saw him on the street. The red eyes are unmistakable, though. Crowley hadn’t mentioned about one of his crossroads demons turning, but perhaps this demon has been subtler than Cas usually gives them credit for. That or Crowley’s been lying to them all along.

A movement by the opposite wall catches his eye. Sam’s finally in position. Cas takes a deep breath, adjusts his hold on the torch, and charges.

They’re noticed the second they move out from the wall, which Cas had been expecting. Their footfalls echo around the cavern, and the demons would have to be deaf to miss them.

The outside ring must all be human, because they react just a fraction slower than the demons. Cas and Sam hit them at a full run, swinging their torches, and they scatter, pulling away from the altar and looking towards the crossroads demon for guidance.

“I’d stop there, if I was you.” Ornias reaches down and easily pulls Dean up from the floor, holding a wicked-looking dagger to his throat. Cas freezes and, beyond the demon’s shoulder, Sam does the same.

“Cas,” Dean chokes out. He’s bleeding from a cut over his eye and he’s as pale as he was when Cas first found him in Seattle. “You’re alive.”

Cas smiles. “I’m not the only one.”

“Put him down,” Sam says, his voice a low growl, and Cas doesn’t know how he’s managing to sound so forceful. A few minutes ago, he’d thought Sam was on the verge of passing out.

The crossroads demon folds his arms over his chest and sighs. “Of course, you found our little pet. I knew we should have killed you as soon as we found you.”

“Sammy? What the Hell?” Dean twists a little in Ornias’ grip, trying to look behind him. The knife blade digs a little deeper into his skin, stopping just short of drawing blood, and he stills.

“Sam, Castiel, why don’t you come up here, we’ll talk?” The crossroads demon’s voice is as average as the rest of him, mild and almost friendly. Cas catches Sam’s eyes, who shrugs, and climbs the few steps up into the pool of brighter light around the altar, walking around Ornias until Dean can see him. Cas follows him, positioning himself on Ornias’ other side. There might still be some way they could overpower the demon and rescue Dean.

“Sammy,” Dean says again, staring at his brother. His eyes flick over to Cas. “He the real thing?”

Cas nods, and the crossroads demon chuckles. “Are you sure about that? He could just be another trick.”

“I’m sure.” Cas pulls himself as tall as he can and meets the demon’s eyes. “I pulled Sam Winchester from Hell. I’ve been in his mind. I can recognize the ‘real thing’ when I see it.”

“A nice speech, but don’t try and fool me, Castiel. I know just how little power you have. You’re impotent, weak. A few years ago, you could have killed me like an insect-now I can do the same to you.” The demon takes a step towards Cas and raises his hand.

“Please, stop!” Dean’s looking between Cas and the demon, and he’s gone even paler than he was before. “Come on, you don’t have to kill him. You’ve won, just let him go.”

Ornias laughs, and the movement jars the dagger. Dean winces, and when he moves his head a thin line of blood catches the light.

The crossroads demon smiles amicably. “Really, Dean, you’re not very subtle, are you? Does your brother know about all the nasty things you and your little wingless angel have been up to?”

Dean closes his eyes.

Sam’s looking between his brother and Cas, his forehead crinkled into a frown. “Dean?”

“Look, Sam, I can explain-” Dean’s voice is tight and just a little desperate.

“You and Cas are, um, together now?”

“Well, kinda, yeah…” Dean’s not looking at any of them, but he’d actually said it. He’d told Sam what Cas hadn’t been sure he’d been able to tell Cas himself-that it was more than just a night of passion and a few stolen kisses. He just wishes that it hadn’t been under these circumstances.

Sam huffs out a laugh. “God, finally!”

Dean looks up at him sharply and the crossroads demon frowns. “What?” The demon raises his eyebrows at Sam. “You knew about this?”

“Dude, I think everyone who saw them knew it.” Sam’s still smiling, but he’s edging backwards as he talks, slowly enough that the demons might not notice. He’s only a few inches away from the altar now, and Cas’ stomach lurches as he realizes that there’s a selection of weapons laid out on the stone, presumable for use in Dean’s impending death and whatever was supposed to happen to Sam.

Ruby’s knife is one of the blades, and Sam’s making a show of waving the torch while he talks as his free hand reaches behind him for its handle. “You should have seen the looks they gave each other. For years. Without doing anything. Seriously, the level of denial was mind-numbing.”

“So you-you’re okay with this?” Dean’s staring at Sam, disbelief plain on his face.

“You seriously have to ask that? Just keep the PDA to a minimum when I’m in the room, okay?” Sam reaches the knife, grabbing it off the altar and lunging at the crossroads demon in one smooth move. The demon moves faster, though, turning away at the last moment. The knife cuts through the demon’s robe and catches in the fabric.

The demon’s hand flies out and Sam’s thrown backwards, hitting the altar with an echoing thud. The knife slips free from the cloth and falls to the floor, skittering across the stone towards Cas.

It’s too perfect of an opportunity to miss. Cas snatches up the blade and stabs at Ornias, aiming for the demon’s back, but Ornias turns, dragging Dean with him and holding him as a shield. Cas has too much momentum to stop, but he can’t hurt Dean. The blow goes wide, missing Dean and slicing along the edge of Ornias’ arm. It’s not a serious wound, but it cuts deep, the light from the wound lighting up the edges of the torn and bloody fabric of Ornias’ sleeve.

The demon hisses in pain, grabbing at his shoulder, and his grip on Dean loosens. Dean slips free and Cas catches him, dragging him back and away from the demons.

“Stop!” The crossroads demon’s voice is like a thunderclap in the enclosed space and Cas turns back. Sam is on his knees by the altar and the demon is holding his head back, baring his throat to the long sword in the demon’s hand.

“We’ve had enough games,” the demon hisses. “It’s almost dawn, and it’s time to make your choice, Sam. Do you want to survive this? You will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”

Sam’s eyes are fixed on Dean and Cas. “Not if it means betraying my family.”

“Fine. Then you’ll die in agony as my lords use you as their threshold into this world.” The demon gestures with his head and the dozen hooded humans that are still in the hall carefully take a few steps closer. “Careful with the Winchester. I was hoping the angel would see our triumph, but if you can’t avoid it, kill him. Just don’t do it here.”

Dean staggers to his feet and raises his fists. “Sorry about this, Cas,” he says softly. “I didn’t want it to end like this.” The demon’s minions are closing in around them from the front and the demons are behind them. There’s nowhere to run, and Cas isn’t sure that Dean could take that many of them unarmed, even if he hadn’t just been tortured.

One gets within striking distance of Dean, and he swings, his punch catching the hooded man squarely in the jaw. He goes down, and it’s the only signal the rest of them need. They rush them in a mass of black fabric and grabbing hands.

Cas gets in a few blows, but there’s too many and he still can’t reconcile the amount of strength he expects his punches to have with reality. He gives up when he feels the cold barrel of a gun jammed under his chin, and lets them drag him over by Sam.

Dean’s still fighting, but Cas doesn’t know how. He must be running on nothing but adrenaline and sheer willpower by now, but he’s still on his feet. One of the minions that had taken down Cas moves to help the others, but Ornias makes a dismissive noise.

“Nybbas, can you take care of this?”

“Gladly.” The crossroads demon smiles, and Dean cries out, dropping to the ground and holding his head. It looks uncomfortably familiar.

“It was you,” Cas says. “You were sending Dean the visions of Sam, keeping us on the wrong trail.”

Nybbas nods. “I also blocked your frankly pathetic attempts to scry for Sam, though how you found Dean in the first place, I’m still not sure. Maybe you can explain that to me before you die.” He waves his hand at the altar. “Lay Dean out there. It’s time.”

“Cas? You have a plan?” Sam whispers, and Cas shakes his head slightly. They’re outnumbered, weakened, and they’ve run out of time. Dean is motionless on the altar, and Cas and Sam are both too well guarded to move.

Around them, the demon’s followers have formed a loose circle at the base of the dais, their heads bowed and arms outstretched. Ornias clears his throat, then begins to chant, the mix of Latin and Enochian strong and sure in Sam’s borrowed voice. The crossroads demon carefully lifts Dean’s torso, easing his arms free of the sleeves of his over shirt, then lays him back down, leaving Dean’s arms naked again the dark stone.

Cas’ breath quickens as panic wells up in him. Desperation beats a frantic tattoo against his skull until his head’s pounding and his chest tightens. He can’t let them go through with this. He may just be human now, but that doesn’t mean it’s any less of his responsibility. It was his own actions, his own pride and shortsightedness that allowed these demons to manipulate events to get Dean and Sam into this position.

He has to stop them.

Ornias’ chanting continues, and the worshippers around them join in, the sound swelling through the cavern. Nybbas selects one of the knives laid out on the stone, and, almost delicately, slices across Dean’s forearm. Blood wells up, trickling down to blacken the already-dark stone.

The change is immediate. As Dean’s blood hisses against the altar, its smell fills the room, and Cas gags on the first breath of coppery air. The pressure shifts too, like the weight before a storm arrives.

The demon roughly pushes Dean off the altar and drags Sam up against the stone. He hesitates, as if he’s deciding exactly where he should cut, and Cas acts.

He scrambles to his feet, throwing off the guard holding him down, and climbs up onto the high altar. There’s a blade at his feet, the angelic sword Dean had handed him back in the trailer, and he snatches it up.

The chanting wavers to a stop. The crossroads demon blinks up at him, his knife still poised over Sam.

“Cas,” Sam breathes, “what are you doing?”

“I heard that this ritual is delicate,” Cas says, and somehow, he sounds confident and strong. It’s a world away from how he feels, but this is the right choice. It’s the only choice. “That’s why you went to all this trouble to resurrect Sam and Dean. They were the only ones with blood powerful enough to make the spell work.”

“Why don’t you come down?” the crossroads demon says, taking a step backwards.

“Let go of Sam,” Cas says, but the demon just smiles and lowers the knife, nicking Sam’s skin to let a few drops of blood splash onto the stone. There’s a rumble like thunder in the distance, and the cavern shudders.

“You can have him,” the demon says, and lets Sam slide to the ground. Dean still hasn’t moved and Sam’s slumped against the altar stone, breath heaving from something more than the cut, and his eyes focused on some point towards the ceiling.

Cas takes a step to the left to stand in the center of the altar. He hadn’t realized quite how tall it is-he’s towering over their heads, but he’s never felt so small. His hands are shaking as he carefully shifts the blade in his hand so the point is resting against the tender skin at the inside of his wrist.

“The ritual has already started,” Ornias says. “If you end it now, like that, the energy released will bring this whole place down on all our heads. Your beloved Winchesters will die, and my friend and I will be long gone.”

“We were already dead,” Dean says. He slowly climbs to his feet, eyes fixed on Cas. “That doesn’t mean you have to do this, Cas.”

“Do you think a few drops of blood will make a difference?” Ornias asks. “It’s your life’s blood or nothing, little angel. Can you really do that?”

Cas looks between them. Sam is still motionless on the ground. Ornias smiles at him, then starts chanting again, his followers raggedly joining in. The crossroads demon looks impossibly smug, and why shouldn’t he? Whatever nightmares they’re summoning are already on their way out of Hell, crawling up through Sam.

“Cas, please, don’t do this,” Dean says. He’s bleeding from a cut lip, and when Cas bends down and kisses him, he can taste copper. He doesn’t care.

“Just run,” he says softly. “Take Sam and run, as fast as you can.”

“Don’t you dare say that to me,” Dean hisses, and reaches for Cas’ hand, but Cas is already pulling away. He reverses the blade and, before he can change his mind, drives it towards his chest.

Dean lunges for his arm and manages to catch the sleeve of his jacket, throwing off Cas’ aim. He’d meant to hit his heart-he guessed that had to count as life’s blood, even if it might not bleed as much as other injuries, but Dean’s pull on his arm makes the sword cut into his side instead, catching on his bottom rib and sliding easily into his flesh.

It doesn’t have the acidic burn that the cut of an angelic blade had held before he’d lost his Grace, but it still hurts worse than anything else he’d ever felt. He wants to throw up. He wants to black out and have it all be over, but he can’t do either. He pulls out the sword and his blood gushes over the stone. Cas collapses onto the altar and, through the black and yellow static obscuring his vision, Dean’s blurry face comes into view.

There’s pressure on the wound, a dull ache through the burn, and Dean’s shouting something in his ear. Everything goes numb, even the pain, and all he can feel is relief. He loses consciousness, but it only lasts for a minute. When he comes to again, the comforting numbness is gone. There’s shouting, and figuring it can’t hurt any worse, Cas opens his eyes.

The cavern is shaking, pieces of limestone from the ceiling breaking free and crashing against the flagstones, and the intricate mosaics on the floor are cracking and corrupted, their protective sigils useless. Dean is still standing over him, his discarded over shirt balled up and pressed over the hole in Cas’ side.

Sam is behind Ornias, Ruby’s knife gleaming in his hand, and before Cas can blink, he brings the blade up into his double’s back. Ornias falls to the ground, his chant still hanging in the air, and he loses definition, Sam’s features shifting into something like a shop window mannequin, nothing more than a blank slate.

Sam turns towards Nybbas, chest heaving, then stops, his eye caught by something down in the demon’s followers.

The chanting and yells stop abruptly, and the cavern goes quiet. For a second, there’s nothing but the rumble of the walls, Cas’ labored breathing, and the steady, slow rhythm of someone clapping.

“My, my, what a scene,” a familiar voice says, and the crossroads demon, who’s still standing by the altar, pales. “And there I was thinking that you boys might be done with the self-sacrificing by now. Oh well, I suppose some people never change.”

“Crowley,” Dean snarls, turning away from Cas. “Couldn’t you have got here a little sooner?”

“I came as soon as I could,” Crowley says, stepping through the hooded figures, who part like frightened fish before him. “You were hidden from me until the wards were broken. Luckily, once that veil was gone, your boyfriend shone like a beacon.”

“You have to save him,” Dean says, his voice cracking. “Please. He stopped the ritual.”

“And now you’re all going to die from several thousands pounds of stone falling on your heads. Where was the thinking there?”

He stretches out a hand, and there’s a strangled noise from the darkness below the altar. “Don’t even think of trying to run, Nybbas. I must say, yours was not a face I was expecting to see here. Let me guess, you and your little dead friend over there recruited a bunch of humans, convinced them to make deals for the things you needed, giving you both tricky things like living Winchesters and your minions’ souls upon their doubtlessly imminent deaths?”

He twitches his fingers and the crossroads demon walks unwillingly back into Cas’ line of vision. “Please, sire,” Nybbas stammers. “I can explain-”

“Oh, I’m sure you can,” Crowley says, and he smiles. He waves his hand, and the demon disappears.

“Where did you send him?” Dean’s frowning at the empty space where Nybbas had stood.

“A nice dark little corner of Hell. He’ll make a lovely example of what happens to those who betray me.”

Sam takes a step towards Dean, and another tremor wracks the cavern. Cas gasps as the altar shifts underneath him and Dean pulls him off the stone, hoisting him up into his arms. A chunk of limestone falls from the ceiling, smashing into the floor, and Sam staggers backwards to avoid it.

“We have to get out of here.” Sam’s looking up, and Cas follows his gaze. The ceiling and walls are a mass of cracks. Another good tremor, and the whole roof will cave.

“I’ll see you later, assuming you make it out,” Crowley says, and vanishes.

Dean swears. “Come on!”

Cas knows he’s too heavy for Dean to carry out. “Put me down,” he says, and talking feels like someone’s digging around in the wound with a red-hot poker. “I can walk.” It’s a blatant lie, but he’s not going to slow them down.

Dean lowers him carefully until his feet are touching the ground, and Sam takes Cas’ other side, wrapping his arm around Cas’ shoulder.

Cas’ knees buckle on the first step, but between them Sam and Dean are strong enough to half-carry him. They’re only a few feet away from the altar when another tremor hits, bigger than the last. The ground beneath the altar opens, the stone tumbling down into the darkness, and the roof and walls shudder, raining down chunks of stone.

What’s left of the demon’s followers are already gone, running for the far end of the hall with their robes pulled up. Cas twists to look over his shoulder only to see the floor falling away behind them, the hole the altar had been lost to widening to consume the whole cavern. The ceiling is starting to come away in earnest, and they’re only halfway to the far end of the hall when Sam has to drag them all to one side to avoid a chunk the size of the Impala that lands where they’d been an instant before.

Cas doesn’t know how they reach the tunnel out of the cavern. He’s barely conscious for most of it. The pain is rolling in waves, his vision blacking out as it crests. All he can hear is a deafening roar as the cavern implodes. It doesn’t quiet as they reach the tunnel and start to climb towards the surface, and the air is heavy with dust. Cas starts to cough, lungs constricting, and when it passes, there’s the sharp taste of copper and bile in his mouth and blood on his chin. He must make a noise, because Dean holds him tighter.

“We’re almost out, Cas, just hold on.”

The cold air hits Cas like a slap. Somehow they’ve done it, they’ve reached the surface. Cas exhales, his breath rattling, and everything goes dark.

Except he can’t die, because Dean’s shouting in his ear.

“Come on, you bastard,” he’s saying, and Cas isn’t sure who he’s talking to. “You can’t just let him die, not after everything he’s done.”

“You mean him betraying you? Him opening Purgatory and almost destroying the world? I’m sure I could think of a few more choice things he’s done.” It’s Crowley, which doesn’t make sense. Crowley left them back in the cavern.

“That’s not who he is now. He’s just an ordinary guy who happened to save your sorry ass.”

“Come on, Crowley,” Sam says. “We’d be in your debt. I’m sure you’d like that.”

There’s a long pause, and Cas almost drifts off again.

It’s Crowley who breaks the silence. “Fine,” he says. “I did make a deal with your brother that we’d leave each other alone, but in a tight place having leverage over the Winchesters does sound pleasant. I suppose I can call in a favor. Don’t say I never did anything for you. Just remember, boys, you owe me.”

Cas’ whole body seizes and he gasps for breath. For a second, he thinks he’s going to burn alive from the pain and all he can see is glowing white. Then it’s gone, and all that’s left is a dull ache in his side.

“Cas? Cas? Are you okay?” Dean’s hands are running up his body, feeling where the wound had been, and Cas smiles.

“I thought we were supposed to limit the touching around Sam.”

“I’m not here,” Sam says faintly, and turns away, walking off to check something dark on the ground.

“Good,” Dean says, and bends down to kiss him. Cas reaches up, grabbing the back of Dean’s neck and pushing hard against Dean’s lips. They’re both breathless by the time they break apart.

Cas pulls himself upright and Dean helps him get to his feet. Cas’ breath freezes in the air as he looks around, and for the first time he realizes just how cold it is out here.

“What are-” he starts, glancing around the black piles scattered around them on the ground, then breaks off as he realizes what they are. He swallows hard and turns away from the twisted bodies of the demon’s human minions.

“Crowley took care of them before we got out here,” Dean says, his jaw set and tense. “I guess at least we won’t have to keep looking over our shoulder.”

“Dean, Cas, look at this!” Sam’s about fifty feet away, waving his arm at them.

“Can you walk?” Dean asks. He’s still got his hands on Cas’ shoulders.

“I’m perfectly healed.” Still, Cas doesn’t pull away from them as they walk over to join Sam.

For a second, Cas doesn’t recognize what he’s looking at. Beyond Sam, there’s nothing but darkness deep enough that the pale blue early morning light does nothing to illuminate it.

“Holy crap.”

There’s a wide canyon at their feet, deep enough that there’s no sign of a bottom. That cavern had probably been there for centuries, built and maintained by those who still followed Lucifer, maybe even built for the sole purpose of staging that ritual, and now it’s nothing more than rubble at the bottom of a hole. Cas smiles.

“We should probably get out of here,” Sam says. “Once the sun comes up, this isn’t going to be unnoticed for long.”

“Where does this look like to you, southern New Mexico?” Dean asks. “We left the car in Kansas. That’s a hell of a walk.”

“Then we’d better get started. The people working with the demons must have had some way of getting here. Maybe they left cars or something.”

Cas looks out at the barren countryside. In the distance, something catches the sunlight, a silver flash that could be a tin roof. “How about over there?”

Dean shrugs. “Looks as good as anything.”

“Where do we go after here?” Sam asks, falling into step with Dean and Cas. “I don’t know about you guys, but I still feel like crap.”

Cas would go anywhere. If there’s one thing he’s learned in the time he’s been alone, it’s that he’s lost without them. Even his tiny apartment could be a home if his family was there with him. Speaking of which…

“I’ve got a place,” he says, and they both look at him. “It’s not very big, but I’ve got rent paid on it until February.”

Dean nods his head, pursing his lips. “Sounds good to me.” They’re walking close enough together, that Dean can reach down and take Cas’ hand without Sam seeing. Cas thinks he notices anyway, but that’s okay.

Everything’s going to be okay.

Next

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series: on these more familiar roads, genre: slash, rating: nc-17, challenge: deancas big bang, character: castiel, fan fiction, character: sam w., fandom: supernatural, character: dean w., word count: 10k+

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