SPN FIC - Extreme Measures
You remember that moment in Let It Bleed: "There's one more thing you could do for me." A simple request: Make them forget about me. But it's not as simple as that.
"Is that your only intention? To spare them pain? You do realize that my removing their memory of you will do nothing to eliminate their potential value as far as Crowley, or anyone like him, is concerned. As long as they're of value to you, they remain in the game."
CHARACTERS: Castiel and Dean
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Nothing current
LENGTH: 1284 words
EXTREME MEASURES
By Carol Davis
"Yes or no?" Dean demands. "It ain't a complicated question. Will you do it, or not?"
His voice is a jagged rasp, sound dragged over broken glass. Somehow, Castiel thinks, hearing pain is worse than seeing it, though looking at the shattered expression on Dean's face is bad enough. He glances away for a moment, taking in the slow, measured rise and fall of the blanket as Lisa Braeden breathes, then turns back to his friend.
I am yours, he thinks. Even if you are no longer mine.
"It is complicated," the angel says. "It is extremely complicated."
"The hell it is. You can bend time. You can change history. You can bring people back from the dead."
That's all true enough.
All of those actions, though, are fraught with problems, as is the one Dean has requested.
"You can't simply remove one thread from a tapestry," Castiel murmurs, and when Dean's expression shifts, preparatory to unleashing whatever argument he's lined up, Castiel gestures for him to hold his silence. "Removing her - and Ben's - memory of you isn't sufficient. There are others who will remember. Who will ask, 'What happened to Dean?' Neighbors. The mailman. Ben's schoolmates. Your co-workers. You're asking me to alter the memories of a significant number of people, Dean - and to create alternate memories of events both large and small that will feel appropriate to each of them. It's no small undertaking."
Dean folds his arms across his chest. "Balthazar un-sunk the frigging Titanic."
"And I believe you're aware of the mess that caused."
Sam is somewhere nearby. Perhaps he could…
But no. Dean has made up his mind. He's doing his best to pretend this is a logical choice, this thing he's asked for - that it's a sensible choice, that it will somehow benefit the greater good.
He's taken up a fighter's stance, feet firmly planted, his weight balanced, shoulders loose. It's as if he intends to take a swing if he doesn't hear what he insists on hearing.
He might well have to do that.
"Do you believe they hate you?" Castiel asks. "That they despise the very thought of you?"
"They will."
"They're frightened. Angry. It will pass."
"And what then? Huh? They're gonna go through the rest of their lives always waiting for the other shoe to drop. They're always gonna be waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. I was wrong, Cas - I never should have caved to what Sam told me to do. Building some kind of life with Lisa was never anything more than a fantasy. I never should have shown up at her door. I didn't make life better for myself. I wrecked it for her and Ben."
"And now you would remove their ability to choose how to proceed."
"Free will?" Dean barks. "Are you gonna stand there and lecture me about free will, now? What the hell does that even mean, Cas?"
"I believe they care about you, Dean."
For a moment, Dean almost breaks.
Then he mutters, "Yeah, well, that's gonna cause 'em nothing but grief."
"Is that your only intention? To spare them pain? You do realize that my removing their memory of you will do nothing to eliminate their potential value as far as Crowley, or anyone like him, is concerned. As long as they're of value to you, they remain in the game."
"The game," Dean echoes.
"Dean."
"This is not a game, Cas. This is people's lives."
"I am well aware."
"I'm asking you to make things right."
"Then you wish me to remove your memory of them, as well."
That, very efficiently, sucks the air out of Dean's lungs. His eyes widen and his chin quivers; that's all Castiel sees before Dean turns away, his hands knotting into fists, his head bowing. The answer is very obviously "no"; Dean does not want to forget the Braedens. Does not want to forget the moments of contentment, brief as they might have been, that he experienced with them.
He does not love Lisa Braeden - not as one would love a partner, a soulmate - but he counts her as someone dear to him.
And Ben?
Ben is Dean's attempt to reclaim the child that Sam no longer is.
Hardly an ideal relationship, in either case.
"That would be the wiser course of action," Castiel says softly. "If we are going to do this, then we should -"
"No," Dean mutters.
It startles Castiel sometimes: the lengths to which Dean is willing to go to perpetuate his own pain.
Which is not to say he's the only human Castiel has encountered in his two millennia on earth who's acted that way. In Castiel's experience, the discontented, the disappointed, the deeply wounded among men far outnumber the ones who believe their lives are as joyful as the Father intended. Beyond that, it's an unfortunate truth that humans tend to seek out the familiar, for good or ill, and for Dean, pain has always been the status quo. As Bobby Singer would perhaps say, Dean would not know "happy" if it bit him in the ass.
"I don't want 'em to hate me, Cas," Dean whispers.
"They will not. Give them time."
Slowly, Dean turns to look at Castiel, his face a mask of anguish. "Can you honestly promise me that they'll end up thinking only good things about me? And that they won't be afraid of what might happen?"
"Living without fear is unwise. A certain amount of fear is…necessary."
"Can you promise me?"
"No," Castiel says softly. "I cannot."
"Then do this for me. I know, I know," Dean rasps. "I'm the thorn in your side, and I never stop knocking at your door. I keep making demands. But this ain't a demand. This is just me, asking you to set things right for people who don't deserve what they got. Give 'em back the life they had before I screwed it up. Please, Cas. Do this for me."
Is this friendship? the angel wonders. This inability to say "no," even when all logic insists that "no" is the appropriate answer?
"The man Lisa was dating," he says, holding back a sigh. "Crowley's…henchman…killed him."
"Bring him back."
"One of Lisa's neighbors summoned the police. I believe they're calling the situation a home invasion, involving kidnapping and murder."
Dean says nothing.
Dean's expression, however, says Clean it all up.
Please.
Again, Castiel looks over at the bed, at the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of Lisa Braeden's chest.
She's at peace.
Surely, he thinks, there is a way to bring Dean some real peace - something that would last, something that would not involve prolonged periods of unconsciousness, or brain damage, or turning the world on end.
He might consider up-ending the world, if that would work.
But there's no time to ponder that now. Dean's peace of mind will mean nothing if Raphael wins this war; Heaven and Earth will crumble, and if that happens, the state of mind of one single man will not matter, assuming that man even survives the cataclysm, something that seems enormously unlikely.
After, Castiel thinks.
Afterward, there will be time.
It would make much more sense to erase the Braedens from Dean's mind. That would bring him some measure of relief, it would happen immediately - and he would never know. He would never feel betrayed.
Nor will Lisa and Ben, and all the others involved in this unraveling, this pull of a thread.
Free will, Cas thinks wryly.
Once upon a time, he was sure the Father knew what He was doing.
"I'll do it," he says.
And he removes himself from the hospital before he can hear Dean's murmured, "Thank you."
* * * * *
"Is that your only intention? To spare them pain? You do realize that my removing their memory of you will do nothing to eliminate their potential value as far as Crowley, or anyone like him, is concerned. As long as they're of value to you, they remain in the game."
CHARACTERS: Castiel and Dean
GENRE: Gen
RATING: PG
SPOILERS: Nothing current
LENGTH: 1284 words
EXTREME MEASURES
By Carol Davis
"Yes or no?" Dean demands. "It ain't a complicated question. Will you do it, or not?"
His voice is a jagged rasp, sound dragged over broken glass. Somehow, Castiel thinks, hearing pain is worse than seeing it, though looking at the shattered expression on Dean's face is bad enough. He glances away for a moment, taking in the slow, measured rise and fall of the blanket as Lisa Braeden breathes, then turns back to his friend.
I am yours, he thinks. Even if you are no longer mine.
"It is complicated," the angel says. "It is extremely complicated."
"The hell it is. You can bend time. You can change history. You can bring people back from the dead."
That's all true enough.
All of those actions, though, are fraught with problems, as is the one Dean has requested.
"You can't simply remove one thread from a tapestry," Castiel murmurs, and when Dean's expression shifts, preparatory to unleashing whatever argument he's lined up, Castiel gestures for him to hold his silence. "Removing her - and Ben's - memory of you isn't sufficient. There are others who will remember. Who will ask, 'What happened to Dean?' Neighbors. The mailman. Ben's schoolmates. Your co-workers. You're asking me to alter the memories of a significant number of people, Dean - and to create alternate memories of events both large and small that will feel appropriate to each of them. It's no small undertaking."
Dean folds his arms across his chest. "Balthazar un-sunk the frigging Titanic."
"And I believe you're aware of the mess that caused."
Sam is somewhere nearby. Perhaps he could…
But no. Dean has made up his mind. He's doing his best to pretend this is a logical choice, this thing he's asked for - that it's a sensible choice, that it will somehow benefit the greater good.
He's taken up a fighter's stance, feet firmly planted, his weight balanced, shoulders loose. It's as if he intends to take a swing if he doesn't hear what he insists on hearing.
He might well have to do that.
"Do you believe they hate you?" Castiel asks. "That they despise the very thought of you?"
"They will."
"They're frightened. Angry. It will pass."
"And what then? Huh? They're gonna go through the rest of their lives always waiting for the other shoe to drop. They're always gonna be waiting for the next terrible thing to happen. I was wrong, Cas - I never should have caved to what Sam told me to do. Building some kind of life with Lisa was never anything more than a fantasy. I never should have shown up at her door. I didn't make life better for myself. I wrecked it for her and Ben."
"And now you would remove their ability to choose how to proceed."
"Free will?" Dean barks. "Are you gonna stand there and lecture me about free will, now? What the hell does that even mean, Cas?"
"I believe they care about you, Dean."
For a moment, Dean almost breaks.
Then he mutters, "Yeah, well, that's gonna cause 'em nothing but grief."
"Is that your only intention? To spare them pain? You do realize that my removing their memory of you will do nothing to eliminate their potential value as far as Crowley, or anyone like him, is concerned. As long as they're of value to you, they remain in the game."
"The game," Dean echoes.
"Dean."
"This is not a game, Cas. This is people's lives."
"I am well aware."
"I'm asking you to make things right."
"Then you wish me to remove your memory of them, as well."
That, very efficiently, sucks the air out of Dean's lungs. His eyes widen and his chin quivers; that's all Castiel sees before Dean turns away, his hands knotting into fists, his head bowing. The answer is very obviously "no"; Dean does not want to forget the Braedens. Does not want to forget the moments of contentment, brief as they might have been, that he experienced with them.
He does not love Lisa Braeden - not as one would love a partner, a soulmate - but he counts her as someone dear to him.
And Ben?
Ben is Dean's attempt to reclaim the child that Sam no longer is.
Hardly an ideal relationship, in either case.
"That would be the wiser course of action," Castiel says softly. "If we are going to do this, then we should -"
"No," Dean mutters.
It startles Castiel sometimes: the lengths to which Dean is willing to go to perpetuate his own pain.
Which is not to say he's the only human Castiel has encountered in his two millennia on earth who's acted that way. In Castiel's experience, the discontented, the disappointed, the deeply wounded among men far outnumber the ones who believe their lives are as joyful as the Father intended. Beyond that, it's an unfortunate truth that humans tend to seek out the familiar, for good or ill, and for Dean, pain has always been the status quo. As Bobby Singer would perhaps say, Dean would not know "happy" if it bit him in the ass.
"I don't want 'em to hate me, Cas," Dean whispers.
"They will not. Give them time."
Slowly, Dean turns to look at Castiel, his face a mask of anguish. "Can you honestly promise me that they'll end up thinking only good things about me? And that they won't be afraid of what might happen?"
"Living without fear is unwise. A certain amount of fear is…necessary."
"Can you promise me?"
"No," Castiel says softly. "I cannot."
"Then do this for me. I know, I know," Dean rasps. "I'm the thorn in your side, and I never stop knocking at your door. I keep making demands. But this ain't a demand. This is just me, asking you to set things right for people who don't deserve what they got. Give 'em back the life they had before I screwed it up. Please, Cas. Do this for me."
Is this friendship? the angel wonders. This inability to say "no," even when all logic insists that "no" is the appropriate answer?
"The man Lisa was dating," he says, holding back a sigh. "Crowley's…henchman…killed him."
"Bring him back."
"One of Lisa's neighbors summoned the police. I believe they're calling the situation a home invasion, involving kidnapping and murder."
Dean says nothing.
Dean's expression, however, says Clean it all up.
Please.
Again, Castiel looks over at the bed, at the gentle, rhythmic rise and fall of Lisa Braeden's chest.
She's at peace.
Surely, he thinks, there is a way to bring Dean some real peace - something that would last, something that would not involve prolonged periods of unconsciousness, or brain damage, or turning the world on end.
He might consider up-ending the world, if that would work.
But there's no time to ponder that now. Dean's peace of mind will mean nothing if Raphael wins this war; Heaven and Earth will crumble, and if that happens, the state of mind of one single man will not matter, assuming that man even survives the cataclysm, something that seems enormously unlikely.
After, Castiel thinks.
Afterward, there will be time.
It would make much more sense to erase the Braedens from Dean's mind. That would bring him some measure of relief, it would happen immediately - and he would never know. He would never feel betrayed.
Nor will Lisa and Ben, and all the others involved in this unraveling, this pull of a thread.
Free will, Cas thinks wryly.
Once upon a time, he was sure the Father knew what He was doing.
"I'll do it," he says.
And he removes himself from the hospital before he can hear Dean's murmured, "Thank you."
* * * * *