Fic: The Shattered One (20/?)
See the masterpost for disclaimer, summary, and previous parts.
A/N: I don’t know if this needs to be a warning or not, but there are some things in this chapter that are reminiscent of terrorist actions, which might be triggery for some people. So, fyi.
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Dean didn’t even bother trying to go to bed once it got dark. Not that he could have slept even if he’d tried. He just paced the house with Daniel held close… for what good it did, because Dean couldn’t be what the boy needed, no matter how badly he wished he could be. He held Daniel like Castiel did, but the kid wasn’t fooled. Lethargy snuck up inch by inch and stole the baby’s energy. He slumped against Dean, every once in a while whimpering for Castiel.
Sam stayed up until midnight with his brother, keeping Dean company and offering moral support… sadly, it was the only thing he could do. He spelled Dean once in a while, taking the baby when Dean looked too close to the edge and needed to take a step back. Each time, Daniel would perk up with effort at the switch off… only to settle weakly when the new person holding him wasn’t Castiel. Dean would go to the kitchen and get a drink or a snack or manhandle Bobby’s things roughly in pent-up frustration, but it was never long before he was taking Daniel back.
When Sam finally gave up and went upstairs, Dean prowled around downstairs a couple of hours before going up himself. Not that he expected to sleep.
And he didn’t. He stood at the bedroom window overlooking the salvage yard, hoping Castiel was okay while planning ways to kick his angel ass when he showed back up. Because he damn well better.
Daniel made a grumpy noise against Dean’s shoulder and his tiny hand fisted Dean’s shirt in a weak grip. He wasn’t bad yet - before, when they didn’t know Daniel needed Castiel, that had been bad - but Dean had no interest in seeing it get to that point again. And if Castiel didn’t turn up before too long, Dean had to start considering resorting to desperate measures.
His top two choices were: 1) appealing to Gabriel to just hold the kid for a while (Dean was willing to give just about anything Gabriel might want in return for letting his son bask in the archangel’s grace), or 2) saying yes to Michael - becoming Michael - which was drastic, but at least it would get an angel there for Daniel.
Both options sucked, and Dean wasn’t looking forward to picking.
Luckily, he didn’t have to.
It was ass-early-o’clock and Dean was haunting the window like a gargoyle when the sound of wings broke the silence. Dean turned at once and there was Castiel standing a few feet away. He wasn’t covered in blood, which was about all Dean took time to register before he was moving toward the angel.
“Feathered dick,” Dean growled as he started to hand Daniel over. Castiel was reaching out for the baby in the same breath. Without a word, the angel gathered Daniel close and cradled him. Daniel squirmed at first then seemed to press himself eagerly against Castiel.
It felt like Dean could finally breathe, and he heaved a sigh.
For a minute, neither one of them spoke. There was only Castiel holding Daniel to him and Dean standing there watching.
Then Dean took the time to actually look at Castiel. Something was off. Castiel wasn’t holding Daniel like an afterthought the way he usually did; he was almost hugging him, cupping the back of Daniel’s head as he ducked his face toward the baby and closed his eyes. It wasn’t a peaceful look… it looked harrowed. Like Cas was in danger of feeling raw anguish and didn’t know how to cope with the impending meltdown. Like he was trying to bury what he was feeling with whatever it was he got out of being near Daniel.
Despite all the nasty things Dean had been thinking, and all the shit he’d planned to give Castiel when he showed up, Dean found that the urge to do it was gone after seeing that look on Castiel’s face. “Hey… what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.
Castiel sucked in a tight breath and buried his nose in Daniel’s fine hair.
Dean frowned, reached out, and clasped Castiel on the shoulder. He tried shaking him, but Cas was locked up, so that was a no go… friendly touch on the shoulder it was. “Cas…?”
“I’m sorry I was away as long as I was.”
“Yeah… well, I’m not mad. Much. Now. Just tell me there was a damn good reason.”
“I had to know… the amount of power unleashed, the strength of the shockwave… it was either many angels dying at once, or a few… but among them an archangel.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Michael?”
Castiel opened his eyes and peered up at Dean, blue eyes haunted. “If he’d been killed…”
“We’d be screwed,” Dean finished, a knot forming in his stomach. They were counting on Michael being the last-ditch choice, the rabbit they could pull out of the hat if things got desperate and it was literally do or die on a planetary scale. But if their ace in the hole went and got himself zapped into oblivion…
“So was he there? Was Michael killed?” Dean asked lowly.
“No… he wasn’t among the dead.” Castiel faltered. “But many of my brothers and sisters were.”
Which explained the stricken look on his face. Dicks or not, they were still Castiel’s family, and seeing a reunion-worthy number of them lying around dead had to be horrifying.
“At least Michael’s still in the game,” Dean offered lamely. “But how could he have been at ground zero, anyway? Doesn’t he need me for that kind of crap?”
“Like Lucifer, he could have resorted to taking an inferior but still compatible vessel in the face of your stubborn resistance.”
“I got a second cousin twice removed out there or something?” Dean joked.
“Something like that.”
“Huh… sucks to be them, then.” Because Dean had way too much on his plate to worry about some poor schmuck out there with a drop of Winchester blood in him. Dean considered Castiel quietly a moment. “So, what the hell happened out there?”
Castiel’s expression hardened. “A large group of demons had gathered, among them some of Lucifer’s most dangerous minions. It had the makings of a great battle for Heaven and earth. Heaven sent a large force to meet them in combat. The demons in attendance were upper-echelon in Lucifer’s army, high-priority targets. It wasn’t outlandish to think Michael himself would be there.”
“Sounds like heavy-duty shit. So…?”
“It was a trap. The demons, all of them… they had ingested holy oil. Gallons of it. The moment the first angel touched one of the demons to burn it out of its host, the holy oil ignited, set off a chain of explosions… the angels were engulfed in holy fire. The demons had turned themselves into bombs.”
“Damn…”
Castiel brushed his fingers over Daniel’s hair. “It was a slaughter… demons and angels alike were destroyed.”
“Yeah, and gave Omaha a good shake in the process.” Dean shuffled foot to foot. “So… what took you so long to get back?”
“I hoped to arrive before the others and learn if Michael had been lost… but I was not fast enough. The massive event brought other angels to investigate. I fled, but not before I was seen. They gave chase. I had to be sure I’d lost them all before I dared to come back.”
Shit. “But you did lose them, right?”
Castiel gave Dean a withering look. “I wouldn’t lead them to Daniel.”
“Right, of course not… okay.” Dean licked his lips. “So… where does this leave us?”
Ever so faintly, Castiel began to sway. “In his bid to eliminate the greatest threat to him, Lucifer gambled the strongest in his army to lure Michael into a trap. The risk he took ended in failure and has left him without his strongest soldiers.”
“Yeah, but it sounds like Heaven’s down a hockey team or two.”
The angel didn’t bother trying to sort out that statement, just assumed what it likely meant and added, “Both sides will be weakened… but also desperate.”
“Great.” Because the thought of desperate dueling archangels wasn’t terrifying or anything. “Okay, so… Michael’s still an option at this point, right?”
“A bad one,” Castiel grumbled.
“Not seeing a lot of alternatives,” Dean snapped back. Then he frowned down at Daniel in Castiel’s arms. “So… how can I talk to the big guy?”
Castiel stopped swaying and eyed Dean a moment. Resistance was tense in his spine and the set of his shoulders. Now might not be the best time to be plying Castiel to relent to anything he didn’t like, just because he was in a defensive mood. But end of the world kind of made time of the essence. Eventually, Castiel seemed to give in, and he replied, “If I went into your dreams with you, I could call for him to grant us an audience there. You could speak to him without being physically in his presence.”
“Which, yeah, probably not a good thing,” Dean agreed. Then he thought of something. “I thought you put up some angel mojo against the bad guys busting in on our dreams, though. How’s Michael going to get in?”
“The wards I put in place…” again, that look on his face like the English language was failing him miserably, “they function much like a locked door. It keeps intruders out, but does nothing to stop you from going outside. He can enter your dreams if I invite him in… if I ‘open the door’ if you will.”
Dean wished his head didn’t sound so much like Grand Central Station. “Okay, so that’s the plan… you get big brother on the dream-phone and we do a little negotiating?”
Castiel looked wearily toward the bed. “Very well.”
Dean crawled on the bed, lying on his back and watching Castiel climb on the other side of the bed next to him. The angel reclined against the headboard, Daniel sprawled against his chest. Cas kept one hand on his son while he freed the other to reach toward Dean’s forehead.
“Sam’s not going to like this,” Castiel warned just shy of sending Dean to dreamland.
“Let me worry about Sam.”
“Hasn’t it always been you worrying about Sam?” Castiel asked wryly.
Dean blinked, kind of struck speechless at the offhand observation. “Just… do it.”
With a touch of two fingers, Dean left the dark room in Bobby Singer’s house far behind.
He was in a forest. If Sam wanted details about it later, Dean would lie through his teeth, because the woodlands he stood in were nothing short of enchanted. Leaves of shimmering silver and gold rustled in trees wrapped in bronze bark. The grass underfoot was silken and white, moving in defiance of the wind rather than bending to it - it danced and whorled to a song only the shiny grass could hear. The sky was an impossible blue, shining with dozens of suns whose rays crisscrossed the sky, like shattered prisms of light.
It was pretty much what ‘fields of the Lord’ sounded like in Dean’s head anytime Castiel used the term. He doubted Heaven had pinecones and squirrels.
“Michael.”
Dean turned at Castiel’s voice… turned and his jaw dropped. Castiel was standing a few steps behind Dean, at his shoulder the way he so often was in real life. Only this Castiel had huge fucking wings. Like an enormous eagle, amber and tan wings arched over his shoulders, held so casually… like they were no big deal. When Dean’s agape stare registered with Castiel, the angel cocked his head. When he did, his wings shifted, catching rays of sunlight and shining gold like the leaves.
“Crap, Cas… you think you could be just a little less distracting?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel returned in exasperation, then he looked skyward. “Michael… it’s Castiel. I am with Dean Winchester. He wants to speak with you.”
“It’s good to finally meet you, Dean.”
Dean flinched and whirled around… only to find himself staring at his father. John Winchester, as larger-than-life as Dean remembered him and more, stood in the clearing before Dean. His clothes were familiar and yet too impeccable for the gruff hunter. His presence was buckling, but even more imposing than Dean’s father had ever been… even when Dean had been four and looked up at his dad as a giant among men… a god among men.
“Michael?” Dean ventured with a swallow.
John’s mouth curved in a slightly condescending smile. He tipped his head in acknowledgement.
“How dare you look like that,” Dean growled. “Why him?”
“He’s of the bloodline, just as you are… it’s not so strange. And if I appeared to you as I truly am, even your subconscious mind would be overwhelmed. I thought you would be receptive to this form.”
“Or obey it,” Dean said sharply. “Well, no dice, Mikey… just because you look like my dad doesn’t mean you can order me around and expect me to do what you say. You can’t trick me into saying yes.”
Michael huffed softly. “I would never try to trick you. You’re mistaking me for my brother. But speaking of brothers,” Michael looked past Dean toward Castiel. “You’re quite the talk of the Host, Castiel. The little angel that could. Here we all are doing everything we can to get this human to see that our cause is just, for it is, and you have somehow managed to win his implicit trust with an unholy act of rebellion.”
“I am doing what I believe is right,” Castiel answered evenly.
“And if you were true to God’s plan, the ‘right thing’ would be to see this play out as it was meant to… with Dean accepting me in His glory to defeat Lucifer.”
“Look, you have issues with your brother, I get it,” Dean snarled, annoyed by the bastard judging Castiel for actually having a conscience and a spine. “I could really give a rat’s ass about your little family feud… except that it’s putting my planet in the crosshairs.”
Michael returned his maddeningly calm, steady gaze toward Dean. “As it was written.”
“Whatever… so, just how badly do you want to get all up in me? Bad enough to cut a deal?”
Michael’s eyes flickered, annoyance and indignation flaring somewhere beyond his human shape. “I’m not a crossroads demon.”
“No… but you ask me, you guys aren’t too far away on the evolutionary tree. They’re chimps and you’re gorillas.”
Michael smirked. “Interesting analogy coming from a monkey.”
“Takes one to know one.” Dean scowled. “Let me lay it out simple for you… I won’t even consider letting you take the wheel of the 1979 Dean Winchester unless you agree to a few conditions. So… you game?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “And what conditions would those be?”
The act of thinking seemed to conjure in this dreamscape, because Dean’s thoughts had no sooner flitted to Daniel then he was there. Barely more than two years old, the little boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes was suddenly sitting in the grass at the edge of the clearing. He was staring wide-eyed at Michael. Dean’s heart stuttered a second, because Daniel had wings. Small, like the rest of him, they extended to either side of his body, half-open. Like Castiel’s, they were light brown… with the odd dark feather sprinkled throughout, much like the dusting of freckles on the boy’s nose.
Michael’s eyes flew to Daniel and went wide. Composure (and his obvious effort to seem like the best-bud angel) momentarily forgotten, Michael’s presence swelled enough to fill the sky. The trees creaked at their trunks as they bent away from the archangel’s power. Wings, massive white wings, burst from his shoulders and swept forward in an arresting mantel pose.
One second Castiel was behind Dean’s shoulder, the next he was beside Daniel. Without hesitating, Castiel reached down and picked up Daniel. He hitched the boy on his hip and Daniel leaned into Castiel, grabbing on to him with his arms and swallowing Castiel’s chest and shoulders in a wing-hug. Castiel’s wings were open and in a restless at-the-ready position like Michael’s.
For a second, no one moved.
Slowly, Michael collected himself. At length, he returned his attention to Dean. “I must say, Dean… you are full of surprises.”
“Thanks… the day that you angels actually get me really will be the end of the world.” Dean checked with Castiel. The angel gave him a reassuring look… quickly followed by a wary appraisal of Michael.
“I can only assume these ‘conditions’ of consent you want to discuss concern… that.” Michael gestured half-heartedly toward the child in Castiel’s arms.
“Better watch it, Mike… my son is not a thing.”
“Your son should not be anything. He should not exist; it’s an abomination. A blasphemy.” Michael turned a sharp look on Castiel. “You should know better, Castiel. How dare you create this thing with a human.”
“My son will be better for being a part of Dean Winchester than he ever would be as a pure angel,” Castiel countered venomously, holding Daniel close.
“Your son?” Michael repeated in disgust. He almost sneered… then settled on a pitying shake of his head instead. “Oh, Castiel… how far you’ve fallen.”
“How about you stop talking shit about my family and listen up?” Dean interjected. When Michael, grudgingly, gave Dean his full attention, Dean took a breath and went for it. “I probably don’t have to tell you that finding a way to stop this Apocalypse without you is starting to look… unlikely.”
“Impossible… but go on.”
“Well, give yourself a gold star… because you’re finally getting me to agree with you on something. I’m not going to let this world literally go to Hell… not on my watch. If I have to, I’ll take one for the team.”
“A wise decision…”
“I’m not finished. I’m not afraid to die. Neither is Cas. But our son needs to be around an angel’s grace to live.”
Michael drew back slightly. “I think I can see where this is going.”
“If I said yes to you… would you promise to take care of Daniel?”
Michael turned a thoughtful look toward Castiel and the boy he was holding. Daniel was peeking over at Michael from behind the edge of his own wing. When Michael’s stare fixed on him, Daniel whimpered and turned his head to hide his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck.
A disturbing calm came over Michael. Like a decision had been reached, and it was reached with all the confidence of something ordained by God. Michael locked his scary-intent stare on Dean, once again all eerie and quiet calm, like the deceptively peaceful surface of a deadly sea. “If you will consent to be my vessel, Dean Winchester, I give you my word there will be a place among the angels for the… for Daniel.”
Anxiety broke like a dry twig and Dean nodded. “Good… that’s good.”
Michael quirked one eyebrow. “Then do I have your consent?”
Castiel made a strange noise off to the side, but Dean didn’t take his eyes off the archangel. “Not quite yet… but you’re on my speed dial.”
Michael frowned. “You play dangerous games, Dean… I hope you don’t end up being burned.”
“Been there, done that… so, good talking to you. And I’ll be in touch.”
Michael gave Dean one last testing stare, a lingering disapproving glower at Castiel, then he was simply gone.
Dean crossed the clearing to Castiel, whose wings were already settling back behind his shoulders. Daniel twisted in Castiel’s arms, saw Dean coming, and held out his arms, little fingers opening and closing accompanied by an insistent, “Dada!”
That had to be about the best word in the world… right up there with ‘pie’ and ‘Sammy’. Dean took Daniel from Castiel, surprised by how awkward it wasn’t to accommodate the boy’s wings. That was dreams for you, he supposed.
“So…” Dean said to Castiel, “it’s not a great plan - it doesn’t save Sam, it doesn’t save you, and I’m a goner - but at least we know Daniel has somewhere to go if it all falls to shit.” At the end of the world, it was a small comfort that most people didn’t have.
Castiel nodded stiltedly, still looking uneasy.
“What’s up?” Dean asked.
“I didn’t like him seeing Daniel like that.”
“Yeah, well, he just saw my freaky dream version of him, anyway,” Dean mused, not sure why that would be so upsetting. And it wasn’t like Dean could control what his dreams did.
Castiel turned one of his laser-focused looks on Dean. “No, Dean… that is Daniel.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Perhaps it’s because his grace and mine are interacting in the waking world, but he came in with us.”
“Whoa.” That was wild. And freaky now that he realized Michael had actually been seeing their son.
Dean craned his neck to look Daniel in the eye. Daniel stared back at him a few seconds with soul-searching blue eyes (filled with that angel-intensity he got from Castiel), then he broke into a smile, as if to say ‘duh, of course it’s me, Dad’. Dean grinned. “Okay, that’s just cool.” Then, because he actually could, Dean reached up with his free hand and threaded his fingers experimentally through one of Daniel’s wings. The boy giggled and squirmed.
“Holy shit, his wings are ticklish!”
Castiel fidgeted. “If you handle them like that,” he grumbled contritely.
“Hold up, you saying your wings are ticklish?”
“No.”
But Dean did not believe that. And hell, since Castiel’s wings were there, he reached over and carded his fingers through a handful of feathers. Castiel sidestepped the touch with a strangled, “Quit it, Dean.”
Dean chuckled, “Not ticklish my ass, that is awesome,” and went back to tickling Daniel’s wings… because at least he liked laughing. But damn, the kid had an infectious laugh.
Castiel watched a moment, long enough for the rigid tension in his body to ease, then he said, “We should leave.”
“Not yet… can’t we... can’t we stay a little while?” Dean didn’t want to let this Daniel go… especially knowing there was a chance he wouldn’t live to see him get this big, to hear him laugh or call him ‘dada’.
Maybe Castiel was reading Dean’s mind, because the last measure of resistance melted out of him, and he nodded. “We can stay the night.”
Dean smiled. “Thanks, Cas.”
It might have been just a dream, but it was the best night Dean could remember in a really long time… maybe in his entire life. The only way it could have been better was if Sam was there, too. As it was, it was pretty fucking awesome. A heavenly field of silver and gold, Castiel watching over them, and Dean tossing Daniel in the air to watch the boy squeal in delight and flap his wings in an uncoordinated attempt to fly.
By the end, Dean was proud of the fact that sometimes Daniel didn’t fall back into his hands quite as quickly after being thrown into the air.
Next
A/N: I don’t know if this needs to be a warning or not, but there are some things in this chapter that are reminiscent of terrorist actions, which might be triggery for some people. So, fyi.
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Dean didn’t even bother trying to go to bed once it got dark. Not that he could have slept even if he’d tried. He just paced the house with Daniel held close… for what good it did, because Dean couldn’t be what the boy needed, no matter how badly he wished he could be. He held Daniel like Castiel did, but the kid wasn’t fooled. Lethargy snuck up inch by inch and stole the baby’s energy. He slumped against Dean, every once in a while whimpering for Castiel.
Sam stayed up until midnight with his brother, keeping Dean company and offering moral support… sadly, it was the only thing he could do. He spelled Dean once in a while, taking the baby when Dean looked too close to the edge and needed to take a step back. Each time, Daniel would perk up with effort at the switch off… only to settle weakly when the new person holding him wasn’t Castiel. Dean would go to the kitchen and get a drink or a snack or manhandle Bobby’s things roughly in pent-up frustration, but it was never long before he was taking Daniel back.
When Sam finally gave up and went upstairs, Dean prowled around downstairs a couple of hours before going up himself. Not that he expected to sleep.
And he didn’t. He stood at the bedroom window overlooking the salvage yard, hoping Castiel was okay while planning ways to kick his angel ass when he showed back up. Because he damn well better.
Daniel made a grumpy noise against Dean’s shoulder and his tiny hand fisted Dean’s shirt in a weak grip. He wasn’t bad yet - before, when they didn’t know Daniel needed Castiel, that had been bad - but Dean had no interest in seeing it get to that point again. And if Castiel didn’t turn up before too long, Dean had to start considering resorting to desperate measures.
His top two choices were: 1) appealing to Gabriel to just hold the kid for a while (Dean was willing to give just about anything Gabriel might want in return for letting his son bask in the archangel’s grace), or 2) saying yes to Michael - becoming Michael - which was drastic, but at least it would get an angel there for Daniel.
Both options sucked, and Dean wasn’t looking forward to picking.
Luckily, he didn’t have to.
It was ass-early-o’clock and Dean was haunting the window like a gargoyle when the sound of wings broke the silence. Dean turned at once and there was Castiel standing a few feet away. He wasn’t covered in blood, which was about all Dean took time to register before he was moving toward the angel.
“Feathered dick,” Dean growled as he started to hand Daniel over. Castiel was reaching out for the baby in the same breath. Without a word, the angel gathered Daniel close and cradled him. Daniel squirmed at first then seemed to press himself eagerly against Castiel.
It felt like Dean could finally breathe, and he heaved a sigh.
For a minute, neither one of them spoke. There was only Castiel holding Daniel to him and Dean standing there watching.
Then Dean took the time to actually look at Castiel. Something was off. Castiel wasn’t holding Daniel like an afterthought the way he usually did; he was almost hugging him, cupping the back of Daniel’s head as he ducked his face toward the baby and closed his eyes. It wasn’t a peaceful look… it looked harrowed. Like Cas was in danger of feeling raw anguish and didn’t know how to cope with the impending meltdown. Like he was trying to bury what he was feeling with whatever it was he got out of being near Daniel.
Despite all the nasty things Dean had been thinking, and all the shit he’d planned to give Castiel when he showed up, Dean found that the urge to do it was gone after seeing that look on Castiel’s face. “Hey… what’s wrong?” Dean asked worriedly.
Castiel sucked in a tight breath and buried his nose in Daniel’s fine hair.
Dean frowned, reached out, and clasped Castiel on the shoulder. He tried shaking him, but Cas was locked up, so that was a no go… friendly touch on the shoulder it was. “Cas…?”
“I’m sorry I was away as long as I was.”
“Yeah… well, I’m not mad. Much. Now. Just tell me there was a damn good reason.”
“I had to know… the amount of power unleashed, the strength of the shockwave… it was either many angels dying at once, or a few… but among them an archangel.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose. “Michael?”
Castiel opened his eyes and peered up at Dean, blue eyes haunted. “If he’d been killed…”
“We’d be screwed,” Dean finished, a knot forming in his stomach. They were counting on Michael being the last-ditch choice, the rabbit they could pull out of the hat if things got desperate and it was literally do or die on a planetary scale. But if their ace in the hole went and got himself zapped into oblivion…
“So was he there? Was Michael killed?” Dean asked lowly.
“No… he wasn’t among the dead.” Castiel faltered. “But many of my brothers and sisters were.”
Which explained the stricken look on his face. Dicks or not, they were still Castiel’s family, and seeing a reunion-worthy number of them lying around dead had to be horrifying.
“At least Michael’s still in the game,” Dean offered lamely. “But how could he have been at ground zero, anyway? Doesn’t he need me for that kind of crap?”
“Like Lucifer, he could have resorted to taking an inferior but still compatible vessel in the face of your stubborn resistance.”
“I got a second cousin twice removed out there or something?” Dean joked.
“Something like that.”
“Huh… sucks to be them, then.” Because Dean had way too much on his plate to worry about some poor schmuck out there with a drop of Winchester blood in him. Dean considered Castiel quietly a moment. “So, what the hell happened out there?”
Castiel’s expression hardened. “A large group of demons had gathered, among them some of Lucifer’s most dangerous minions. It had the makings of a great battle for Heaven and earth. Heaven sent a large force to meet them in combat. The demons in attendance were upper-echelon in Lucifer’s army, high-priority targets. It wasn’t outlandish to think Michael himself would be there.”
“Sounds like heavy-duty shit. So…?”
“It was a trap. The demons, all of them… they had ingested holy oil. Gallons of it. The moment the first angel touched one of the demons to burn it out of its host, the holy oil ignited, set off a chain of explosions… the angels were engulfed in holy fire. The demons had turned themselves into bombs.”
“Damn…”
Castiel brushed his fingers over Daniel’s hair. “It was a slaughter… demons and angels alike were destroyed.”
“Yeah, and gave Omaha a good shake in the process.” Dean shuffled foot to foot. “So… what took you so long to get back?”
“I hoped to arrive before the others and learn if Michael had been lost… but I was not fast enough. The massive event brought other angels to investigate. I fled, but not before I was seen. They gave chase. I had to be sure I’d lost them all before I dared to come back.”
Shit. “But you did lose them, right?”
Castiel gave Dean a withering look. “I wouldn’t lead them to Daniel.”
“Right, of course not… okay.” Dean licked his lips. “So… where does this leave us?”
Ever so faintly, Castiel began to sway. “In his bid to eliminate the greatest threat to him, Lucifer gambled the strongest in his army to lure Michael into a trap. The risk he took ended in failure and has left him without his strongest soldiers.”
“Yeah, but it sounds like Heaven’s down a hockey team or two.”
The angel didn’t bother trying to sort out that statement, just assumed what it likely meant and added, “Both sides will be weakened… but also desperate.”
“Great.” Because the thought of desperate dueling archangels wasn’t terrifying or anything. “Okay, so… Michael’s still an option at this point, right?”
“A bad one,” Castiel grumbled.
“Not seeing a lot of alternatives,” Dean snapped back. Then he frowned down at Daniel in Castiel’s arms. “So… how can I talk to the big guy?”
Castiel stopped swaying and eyed Dean a moment. Resistance was tense in his spine and the set of his shoulders. Now might not be the best time to be plying Castiel to relent to anything he didn’t like, just because he was in a defensive mood. But end of the world kind of made time of the essence. Eventually, Castiel seemed to give in, and he replied, “If I went into your dreams with you, I could call for him to grant us an audience there. You could speak to him without being physically in his presence.”
“Which, yeah, probably not a good thing,” Dean agreed. Then he thought of something. “I thought you put up some angel mojo against the bad guys busting in on our dreams, though. How’s Michael going to get in?”
“The wards I put in place…” again, that look on his face like the English language was failing him miserably, “they function much like a locked door. It keeps intruders out, but does nothing to stop you from going outside. He can enter your dreams if I invite him in… if I ‘open the door’ if you will.”
Dean wished his head didn’t sound so much like Grand Central Station. “Okay, so that’s the plan… you get big brother on the dream-phone and we do a little negotiating?”
Castiel looked wearily toward the bed. “Very well.”
Dean crawled on the bed, lying on his back and watching Castiel climb on the other side of the bed next to him. The angel reclined against the headboard, Daniel sprawled against his chest. Cas kept one hand on his son while he freed the other to reach toward Dean’s forehead.
“Sam’s not going to like this,” Castiel warned just shy of sending Dean to dreamland.
“Let me worry about Sam.”
“Hasn’t it always been you worrying about Sam?” Castiel asked wryly.
Dean blinked, kind of struck speechless at the offhand observation. “Just… do it.”
With a touch of two fingers, Dean left the dark room in Bobby Singer’s house far behind.
He was in a forest. If Sam wanted details about it later, Dean would lie through his teeth, because the woodlands he stood in were nothing short of enchanted. Leaves of shimmering silver and gold rustled in trees wrapped in bronze bark. The grass underfoot was silken and white, moving in defiance of the wind rather than bending to it - it danced and whorled to a song only the shiny grass could hear. The sky was an impossible blue, shining with dozens of suns whose rays crisscrossed the sky, like shattered prisms of light.
It was pretty much what ‘fields of the Lord’ sounded like in Dean’s head anytime Castiel used the term. He doubted Heaven had pinecones and squirrels.
“Michael.”
Dean turned at Castiel’s voice… turned and his jaw dropped. Castiel was standing a few steps behind Dean, at his shoulder the way he so often was in real life. Only this Castiel had huge fucking wings. Like an enormous eagle, amber and tan wings arched over his shoulders, held so casually… like they were no big deal. When Dean’s agape stare registered with Castiel, the angel cocked his head. When he did, his wings shifted, catching rays of sunlight and shining gold like the leaves.
“Crap, Cas… you think you could be just a little less distracting?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Castiel returned in exasperation, then he looked skyward. “Michael… it’s Castiel. I am with Dean Winchester. He wants to speak with you.”
“It’s good to finally meet you, Dean.”
Dean flinched and whirled around… only to find himself staring at his father. John Winchester, as larger-than-life as Dean remembered him and more, stood in the clearing before Dean. His clothes were familiar and yet too impeccable for the gruff hunter. His presence was buckling, but even more imposing than Dean’s father had ever been… even when Dean had been four and looked up at his dad as a giant among men… a god among men.
“Michael?” Dean ventured with a swallow.
John’s mouth curved in a slightly condescending smile. He tipped his head in acknowledgement.
“How dare you look like that,” Dean growled. “Why him?”
“He’s of the bloodline, just as you are… it’s not so strange. And if I appeared to you as I truly am, even your subconscious mind would be overwhelmed. I thought you would be receptive to this form.”
“Or obey it,” Dean said sharply. “Well, no dice, Mikey… just because you look like my dad doesn’t mean you can order me around and expect me to do what you say. You can’t trick me into saying yes.”
Michael huffed softly. “I would never try to trick you. You’re mistaking me for my brother. But speaking of brothers,” Michael looked past Dean toward Castiel. “You’re quite the talk of the Host, Castiel. The little angel that could. Here we all are doing everything we can to get this human to see that our cause is just, for it is, and you have somehow managed to win his implicit trust with an unholy act of rebellion.”
“I am doing what I believe is right,” Castiel answered evenly.
“And if you were true to God’s plan, the ‘right thing’ would be to see this play out as it was meant to… with Dean accepting me in His glory to defeat Lucifer.”
“Look, you have issues with your brother, I get it,” Dean snarled, annoyed by the bastard judging Castiel for actually having a conscience and a spine. “I could really give a rat’s ass about your little family feud… except that it’s putting my planet in the crosshairs.”
Michael returned his maddeningly calm, steady gaze toward Dean. “As it was written.”
“Whatever… so, just how badly do you want to get all up in me? Bad enough to cut a deal?”
Michael’s eyes flickered, annoyance and indignation flaring somewhere beyond his human shape. “I’m not a crossroads demon.”
“No… but you ask me, you guys aren’t too far away on the evolutionary tree. They’re chimps and you’re gorillas.”
Michael smirked. “Interesting analogy coming from a monkey.”
“Takes one to know one.” Dean scowled. “Let me lay it out simple for you… I won’t even consider letting you take the wheel of the 1979 Dean Winchester unless you agree to a few conditions. So… you game?”
Michael’s eyes narrowed. “And what conditions would those be?”
The act of thinking seemed to conjure in this dreamscape, because Dean’s thoughts had no sooner flitted to Daniel then he was there. Barely more than two years old, the little boy with dark hair and bright blue eyes was suddenly sitting in the grass at the edge of the clearing. He was staring wide-eyed at Michael. Dean’s heart stuttered a second, because Daniel had wings. Small, like the rest of him, they extended to either side of his body, half-open. Like Castiel’s, they were light brown… with the odd dark feather sprinkled throughout, much like the dusting of freckles on the boy’s nose.
Michael’s eyes flew to Daniel and went wide. Composure (and his obvious effort to seem like the best-bud angel) momentarily forgotten, Michael’s presence swelled enough to fill the sky. The trees creaked at their trunks as they bent away from the archangel’s power. Wings, massive white wings, burst from his shoulders and swept forward in an arresting mantel pose.
One second Castiel was behind Dean’s shoulder, the next he was beside Daniel. Without hesitating, Castiel reached down and picked up Daniel. He hitched the boy on his hip and Daniel leaned into Castiel, grabbing on to him with his arms and swallowing Castiel’s chest and shoulders in a wing-hug. Castiel’s wings were open and in a restless at-the-ready position like Michael’s.
For a second, no one moved.
Slowly, Michael collected himself. At length, he returned his attention to Dean. “I must say, Dean… you are full of surprises.”
“Thanks… the day that you angels actually get me really will be the end of the world.” Dean checked with Castiel. The angel gave him a reassuring look… quickly followed by a wary appraisal of Michael.
“I can only assume these ‘conditions’ of consent you want to discuss concern… that.” Michael gestured half-heartedly toward the child in Castiel’s arms.
“Better watch it, Mike… my son is not a thing.”
“Your son should not be anything. He should not exist; it’s an abomination. A blasphemy.” Michael turned a sharp look on Castiel. “You should know better, Castiel. How dare you create this thing with a human.”
“My son will be better for being a part of Dean Winchester than he ever would be as a pure angel,” Castiel countered venomously, holding Daniel close.
“Your son?” Michael repeated in disgust. He almost sneered… then settled on a pitying shake of his head instead. “Oh, Castiel… how far you’ve fallen.”
“How about you stop talking shit about my family and listen up?” Dean interjected. When Michael, grudgingly, gave Dean his full attention, Dean took a breath and went for it. “I probably don’t have to tell you that finding a way to stop this Apocalypse without you is starting to look… unlikely.”
“Impossible… but go on.”
“Well, give yourself a gold star… because you’re finally getting me to agree with you on something. I’m not going to let this world literally go to Hell… not on my watch. If I have to, I’ll take one for the team.”
“A wise decision…”
“I’m not finished. I’m not afraid to die. Neither is Cas. But our son needs to be around an angel’s grace to live.”
Michael drew back slightly. “I think I can see where this is going.”
“If I said yes to you… would you promise to take care of Daniel?”
Michael turned a thoughtful look toward Castiel and the boy he was holding. Daniel was peeking over at Michael from behind the edge of his own wing. When Michael’s stare fixed on him, Daniel whimpered and turned his head to hide his face in the crook of Castiel’s neck.
A disturbing calm came over Michael. Like a decision had been reached, and it was reached with all the confidence of something ordained by God. Michael locked his scary-intent stare on Dean, once again all eerie and quiet calm, like the deceptively peaceful surface of a deadly sea. “If you will consent to be my vessel, Dean Winchester, I give you my word there will be a place among the angels for the… for Daniel.”
Anxiety broke like a dry twig and Dean nodded. “Good… that’s good.”
Michael quirked one eyebrow. “Then do I have your consent?”
Castiel made a strange noise off to the side, but Dean didn’t take his eyes off the archangel. “Not quite yet… but you’re on my speed dial.”
Michael frowned. “You play dangerous games, Dean… I hope you don’t end up being burned.”
“Been there, done that… so, good talking to you. And I’ll be in touch.”
Michael gave Dean one last testing stare, a lingering disapproving glower at Castiel, then he was simply gone.
Dean crossed the clearing to Castiel, whose wings were already settling back behind his shoulders. Daniel twisted in Castiel’s arms, saw Dean coming, and held out his arms, little fingers opening and closing accompanied by an insistent, “Dada!”
That had to be about the best word in the world… right up there with ‘pie’ and ‘Sammy’. Dean took Daniel from Castiel, surprised by how awkward it wasn’t to accommodate the boy’s wings. That was dreams for you, he supposed.
“So…” Dean said to Castiel, “it’s not a great plan - it doesn’t save Sam, it doesn’t save you, and I’m a goner - but at least we know Daniel has somewhere to go if it all falls to shit.” At the end of the world, it was a small comfort that most people didn’t have.
Castiel nodded stiltedly, still looking uneasy.
“What’s up?” Dean asked.
“I didn’t like him seeing Daniel like that.”
“Yeah, well, he just saw my freaky dream version of him, anyway,” Dean mused, not sure why that would be so upsetting. And it wasn’t like Dean could control what his dreams did.
Castiel turned one of his laser-focused looks on Dean. “No, Dean… that is Daniel.”
Dean’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. Perhaps it’s because his grace and mine are interacting in the waking world, but he came in with us.”
“Whoa.” That was wild. And freaky now that he realized Michael had actually been seeing their son.
Dean craned his neck to look Daniel in the eye. Daniel stared back at him a few seconds with soul-searching blue eyes (filled with that angel-intensity he got from Castiel), then he broke into a smile, as if to say ‘duh, of course it’s me, Dad’. Dean grinned. “Okay, that’s just cool.” Then, because he actually could, Dean reached up with his free hand and threaded his fingers experimentally through one of Daniel’s wings. The boy giggled and squirmed.
“Holy shit, his wings are ticklish!”
Castiel fidgeted. “If you handle them like that,” he grumbled contritely.
“Hold up, you saying your wings are ticklish?”
“No.”
But Dean did not believe that. And hell, since Castiel’s wings were there, he reached over and carded his fingers through a handful of feathers. Castiel sidestepped the touch with a strangled, “Quit it, Dean.”
Dean chuckled, “Not ticklish my ass, that is awesome,” and went back to tickling Daniel’s wings… because at least he liked laughing. But damn, the kid had an infectious laugh.
Castiel watched a moment, long enough for the rigid tension in his body to ease, then he said, “We should leave.”
“Not yet… can’t we... can’t we stay a little while?” Dean didn’t want to let this Daniel go… especially knowing there was a chance he wouldn’t live to see him get this big, to hear him laugh or call him ‘dada’.
Maybe Castiel was reading Dean’s mind, because the last measure of resistance melted out of him, and he nodded. “We can stay the night.”
Dean smiled. “Thanks, Cas.”
It might have been just a dream, but it was the best night Dean could remember in a really long time… maybe in his entire life. The only way it could have been better was if Sam was there, too. As it was, it was pretty fucking awesome. A heavenly field of silver and gold, Castiel watching over them, and Dean tossing Daniel in the air to watch the boy squeal in delight and flap his wings in an uncoordinated attempt to fly.
By the end, Dean was proud of the fact that sometimes Daniel didn’t fall back into his hands quite as quickly after being thrown into the air.
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