Supernatural fic - "Saving Grace" (Part Ten)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
Just because he didn’t have a soul didn’t mean Sam couldn’t have a temper tantrum, and when Castiel transported them back to their motel rooms, Sam had himself a doozy. He wanted answers, he wanted them last week, damnit, and he was going to have a go at being louder than Remiel to get them. Bobby fled to his own room while the brothers went at each other, Castiel standing back and watching the exchange darkly.
Dean didn’t give Sam any of the answers he wanted. Didn’t give his brother any answers, in fact. When Sam was just about to boil over in his anger, Dean finally snapped, “Think whatever the hell you want, Sam! I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated, and not by you of all people, because I’ve seen what you’re willing to do to get the answers you want!”
Animalistic fury glittered dangerously in robo-Sam’s eyes. “That’s rich! You talking to me about torture!”
Talking about Dean’s stint in Hell was the last straw.
Dean stormed out of the room, got in the car, and peeled out, speeding off into the night. He didn’t even think about the fact Castiel hadn’t left the room with him and yet turned up in the passenger seat of the Impala before Dean even reached the car. He just drove.
After he’d put enough distance between himself and his creepy empty shell of a brother, Dean pulled the Impala over to the shoulder and turned the car off. He threw open the driver’s side door, got out, and just started walking.
He wasn’t far from the Impala when he looked up and saw Castiel standing up ahead, waiting.
Dean came to a stop alongside the angel and sighed.
“Do you feel better now?” Castiel asked.
“Not really, but I couldn’t look at him one more second or I was going to pull out my gun, I swear.” He raked his hands through his hair in frustration.
Castiel’s features were heavily shadowed in the stark light of the street lamp as he studied Dean closely. With a frown, Castiel took a step closer to Dean.
It worked. Dean felt Castiel’s proximity like a warm spot on a bleak winter day. He took in a deep breath and felt a little calmer when he exhaled. He closed his eyes, took a moment to bask in the tumbling feeling of ease in his chest, then he looked over at Castiel. The angel looked rough around the edges, like he had been looking for two months. His stubble looked darker and…
Dean chuckled.
“What?” Castiel asked with a tilt of his head.
“You need a haircut.”
Castiel looked up, as if he could see his own hair. “With as little attention as I’ve been paying to my human form lately, it seems to have defaulted to its natural way of functioning.”
“Better watch it or you’ll be taking a crap like everyone else before you know it.”
For a moment, Castiel looked gravely concerned about that. “I hope not. That seems very unsanitary.”
“Yeah, well, better out than in,” Dean answered. “Speaking of full of shit, who the hell was that bouncer angel, anyway?”
The word ‘bouncer’ seemed to throw Castiel for a second. “Remiel is one of Raphael’s primary commanders in the war in Heaven. He does much of Raphael’s dirty work on Earth. I’d been tracking him for weeks, but he is remarkably gifted at masking his whereabouts. If I had not heard you, I might not have gotten to you in time.”
To forestall an angel guilt-trip, Dean said hastily, “But you did… that’s all that matters.” Dean pursed his lips as something else about the whole mess with Remiel occurred to him. “That was Remiel’s true voice, wasn’t it? What knocked Sam and Bobby on their asses.”
“Yes,” Castiel answered soberly.
“It didn’t affect me.”
Castiel looked long and hard at Dean without saying a word.
“And when you ganked him, everything I saw… that was his true form, right?”
Castiel’s eyes narrowed peevishly. “I warned you to close your eyes. You should have listened. You could have been badly damaged. You didn’t know you would be safe from injury.”
“But I was.”
Castiel made a consternated face. “My grace clearly allowed you to safely see and hear the true Remiel.” Castiel’s eyes drifted down to Dean’s chest and lingered there, as if staring through bone and muscle to the offending chunk of grace.
For some reason, it made Dean want to curl protectively around the nestled ball of heat and light inside him. As it was, he crossed his arms over his chest. A tad defensive, Dean asked, “Why don’t you look like that’s a good thing?”
“I fear the presence of my grace could be altering you.”
‘Or fixing me,’ Dean thought to himself. Except not so much. Castiel caught the thought and his eyes jerked up to Dean’s. Busted. The angel cocked his head in question.
This was getting into serious chick flick territory that Dean would desperately like to avoid, but how the hell would he go about outrunning an angel?
“Look, Cas… when you pulled me out of Hell and put me back together, all my scars and everything might have been gone, but there was still something broken. You know… really broken.”
“Readjusting was difficult for you,” Castiel observed gently.
“Try damn near impossible. But since you… I don’t feel broken anymore. This,” he touched his chest, “whatever it’s done to me, it’s the first time I haven’t felt like filleted shit inside. And whatever freaky side-effects that might come with, well I’ll take them.”
The angel didn’t look too thrilled with that.
“Okay, then. Let’s make this real simple. Is the civil war in Heaven over?” Dean asked pointedly.
“No.”
“Do you still need to save your grace?”
For a second, Castiel hesitated. The answer seemed almost painful to get out of him. “Yes.”
“Then discussion’s over, so we don’t need to talk it to death.”
Castiel let out a hard breath and canted his head back, eyes turned skyward. Dean had to laugh at the idea that he could make an angel do the ‘Heaven help me’ look.
“Regrettable things,” Castiel muttered.
“The only one who regrets me holding on to your grace is you,” Dean pointed out, and he hated that he sounded kind of pouty even to his own ears.
Castiel looked back down at Dean, his eyes suddenly very intense. “I don’t regret you being the receptacle for my grace. There is no being on Earth or in Heaven I trust more than you.”
A lump totally did not form in Dean’s throat.
“But if you were to be transformed, in any sense, into anything less than Dean Winchester because of my actions…”
“Dude, ask anyone, Dean Winchester could do with some transforming influence.” And if he was transformed, it couldn’t be into something less. The only way Dean had to go was up… he could only become more. Hell didn’t leave anything left to be subtracted from.
The angel huffed out a forceless chuckle, more surrender than amusement.
Dean smiled. “The word you’re looking for is ‘incorrigible’.” Part of him missed Sam, his real brother, who would have teased Dean for using an SAT word, but he didn’t linger on the ache of that.
For a minute, Dean and Castiel stood quietly together, the looks they traded exchanging volumes. In a way, they were both warriors. In a way, both were hunters. For all the difference in dialect, their languages were very much the same, despite one being an angel and the other a mere human. Or maybe it was just that Dean and Castiel had come to know each other well enough to speak without words.
Honestly, Dean could have stayed there all night. Being near Cas intensified everything good that the grace inside him made him feel, and the alternative was going back to deal with Sam. Cas’s company was definitely preferable.
“I feel the same,” Castiel said lowly, the near-whisper somehow intimate, “but I need to go.”
“Yeah, sure… angel civil war.”
“Will you be all right?”
Dean gave Castiel a queer look. He’d never asked that before. Dean could only assume that it stemmed from Castiel’s new worry that the grace Dean was carrying was doing something to him. The look in Castiel’s eyes was one of genuine worry for Dean’s well-being.
Though completely unnecessary, it was nice to have someone worry about him. Because Sam sure as hell didn’t anymore.
“You just watch your feathery ass,” Dean threw back with a lopsided smile.
Castiel almost managed to mimic the expression before he disappeared.
Part Eleven
Just because he didn’t have a soul didn’t mean Sam couldn’t have a temper tantrum, and when Castiel transported them back to their motel rooms, Sam had himself a doozy. He wanted answers, he wanted them last week, damnit, and he was going to have a go at being louder than Remiel to get them. Bobby fled to his own room while the brothers went at each other, Castiel standing back and watching the exchange darkly.
Dean didn’t give Sam any of the answers he wanted. Didn’t give his brother any answers, in fact. When Sam was just about to boil over in his anger, Dean finally snapped, “Think whatever the hell you want, Sam! I’m not going to stand here and be interrogated, and not by you of all people, because I’ve seen what you’re willing to do to get the answers you want!”
Animalistic fury glittered dangerously in robo-Sam’s eyes. “That’s rich! You talking to me about torture!”
Talking about Dean’s stint in Hell was the last straw.
Dean stormed out of the room, got in the car, and peeled out, speeding off into the night. He didn’t even think about the fact Castiel hadn’t left the room with him and yet turned up in the passenger seat of the Impala before Dean even reached the car. He just drove.
After he’d put enough distance between himself and his creepy empty shell of a brother, Dean pulled the Impala over to the shoulder and turned the car off. He threw open the driver’s side door, got out, and just started walking.
He wasn’t far from the Impala when he looked up and saw Castiel standing up ahead, waiting.
Dean came to a stop alongside the angel and sighed.
“Do you feel better now?” Castiel asked.
“Not really, but I couldn’t look at him one more second or I was going to pull out my gun, I swear.” He raked his hands through his hair in frustration.
Castiel’s features were heavily shadowed in the stark light of the street lamp as he studied Dean closely. With a frown, Castiel took a step closer to Dean.
It worked. Dean felt Castiel’s proximity like a warm spot on a bleak winter day. He took in a deep breath and felt a little calmer when he exhaled. He closed his eyes, took a moment to bask in the tumbling feeling of ease in his chest, then he looked over at Castiel. The angel looked rough around the edges, like he had been looking for two months. His stubble looked darker and…
Dean chuckled.
“What?” Castiel asked with a tilt of his head.
“You need a haircut.”
Castiel looked up, as if he could see his own hair. “With as little attention as I’ve been paying to my human form lately, it seems to have defaulted to its natural way of functioning.”
“Better watch it or you’ll be taking a crap like everyone else before you know it.”
For a moment, Castiel looked gravely concerned about that. “I hope not. That seems very unsanitary.”
“Yeah, well, better out than in,” Dean answered. “Speaking of full of shit, who the hell was that bouncer angel, anyway?”
The word ‘bouncer’ seemed to throw Castiel for a second. “Remiel is one of Raphael’s primary commanders in the war in Heaven. He does much of Raphael’s dirty work on Earth. I’d been tracking him for weeks, but he is remarkably gifted at masking his whereabouts. If I had not heard you, I might not have gotten to you in time.”
To forestall an angel guilt-trip, Dean said hastily, “But you did… that’s all that matters.” Dean pursed his lips as something else about the whole mess with Remiel occurred to him. “That was Remiel’s true voice, wasn’t it? What knocked Sam and Bobby on their asses.”
“Yes,” Castiel answered soberly.
“It didn’t affect me.”
Castiel looked long and hard at Dean without saying a word.
“And when you ganked him, everything I saw… that was his true form, right?”
Castiel’s eyes narrowed peevishly. “I warned you to close your eyes. You should have listened. You could have been badly damaged. You didn’t know you would be safe from injury.”
“But I was.”
Castiel made a consternated face. “My grace clearly allowed you to safely see and hear the true Remiel.” Castiel’s eyes drifted down to Dean’s chest and lingered there, as if staring through bone and muscle to the offending chunk of grace.
For some reason, it made Dean want to curl protectively around the nestled ball of heat and light inside him. As it was, he crossed his arms over his chest. A tad defensive, Dean asked, “Why don’t you look like that’s a good thing?”
“I fear the presence of my grace could be altering you.”
‘Or fixing me,’ Dean thought to himself. Except not so much. Castiel caught the thought and his eyes jerked up to Dean’s. Busted. The angel cocked his head in question.
This was getting into serious chick flick territory that Dean would desperately like to avoid, but how the hell would he go about outrunning an angel?
“Look, Cas… when you pulled me out of Hell and put me back together, all my scars and everything might have been gone, but there was still something broken. You know… really broken.”
“Readjusting was difficult for you,” Castiel observed gently.
“Try damn near impossible. But since you… I don’t feel broken anymore. This,” he touched his chest, “whatever it’s done to me, it’s the first time I haven’t felt like filleted shit inside. And whatever freaky side-effects that might come with, well I’ll take them.”
The angel didn’t look too thrilled with that.
“Okay, then. Let’s make this real simple. Is the civil war in Heaven over?” Dean asked pointedly.
“No.”
“Do you still need to save your grace?”
For a second, Castiel hesitated. The answer seemed almost painful to get out of him. “Yes.”
“Then discussion’s over, so we don’t need to talk it to death.”
Castiel let out a hard breath and canted his head back, eyes turned skyward. Dean had to laugh at the idea that he could make an angel do the ‘Heaven help me’ look.
“Regrettable things,” Castiel muttered.
“The only one who regrets me holding on to your grace is you,” Dean pointed out, and he hated that he sounded kind of pouty even to his own ears.
Castiel looked back down at Dean, his eyes suddenly very intense. “I don’t regret you being the receptacle for my grace. There is no being on Earth or in Heaven I trust more than you.”
A lump totally did not form in Dean’s throat.
“But if you were to be transformed, in any sense, into anything less than Dean Winchester because of my actions…”
“Dude, ask anyone, Dean Winchester could do with some transforming influence.” And if he was transformed, it couldn’t be into something less. The only way Dean had to go was up… he could only become more. Hell didn’t leave anything left to be subtracted from.
The angel huffed out a forceless chuckle, more surrender than amusement.
Dean smiled. “The word you’re looking for is ‘incorrigible’.” Part of him missed Sam, his real brother, who would have teased Dean for using an SAT word, but he didn’t linger on the ache of that.
For a minute, Dean and Castiel stood quietly together, the looks they traded exchanging volumes. In a way, they were both warriors. In a way, both were hunters. For all the difference in dialect, their languages were very much the same, despite one being an angel and the other a mere human. Or maybe it was just that Dean and Castiel had come to know each other well enough to speak without words.
Honestly, Dean could have stayed there all night. Being near Cas intensified everything good that the grace inside him made him feel, and the alternative was going back to deal with Sam. Cas’s company was definitely preferable.
“I feel the same,” Castiel said lowly, the near-whisper somehow intimate, “but I need to go.”
“Yeah, sure… angel civil war.”
“Will you be all right?”
Dean gave Castiel a queer look. He’d never asked that before. Dean could only assume that it stemmed from Castiel’s new worry that the grace Dean was carrying was doing something to him. The look in Castiel’s eyes was one of genuine worry for Dean’s well-being.
Though completely unnecessary, it was nice to have someone worry about him. Because Sam sure as hell didn’t anymore.
“You just watch your feathery ass,” Dean threw back with a lopsided smile.
Castiel almost managed to mimic the expression before he disappeared.
Part Eleven