Unexpected Destinies Chapter 4
Title Unexpected Destinies
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: up to and including Exile on Main St., AU from the end of season 5
Warnings: AU
Word Count: 2,739
Summary: The consequences of the truth.
PAST
"Dean?" Castiel asked, worried.
The hunter's breathing was starting to accelerate and come in short, quick bursts that Castiel doubted were good for him. His voice clearly failed to penetrate whatever thoughts were currently racing through Dean's mind as it went completely unacknowledged. The change in breathing was accompanied by a change in heart rate and he could feel it racing beneath his hand as he clasped Dean's neck, attempting to make the hunter look at him. Although he succeeded in turning Dean's head, his plan failed as the familiar green eyes were glossy as if focused on something far away that he could not see.
Castiel silently cursed the younger Winchester for doing this to his brother and tried to think of what to do next. Dean was clearly being torn apart by the truth he'd just learned and he half wished to take it back but knew he could never do that to his charge. Much as the knowledge hurt Dean, lying to him would only have hurt him that much worse when the truth eventually came to light, as it inevitably would. He didn't understand why Sam would keep his return from Dean, but he knew that there was nothing that could justify it.
Then, before Castiel could try anything else, Dean's body suddenly went limp and the angel's hand at his neck was the only thing stopping him from slumping to the floor and hitting his head.
"Dean!" Castiel exclaimed urgently.
His other hand reached out and carefully brushed the hunter's forehead, tendrils of Grace reaching out to assess his condition. What Castiel got back was a miasma of swirling emotions and physical demands. It would appear that Dean had once again been ignoring his body's need for sustenance and rest in favor of drinking far too much. The betrayal, anger and deep-seated pain lingered even as his mind shut down under a combination of emotional stress, lack of oxygen and bone deep fatigue, all enhanced by a lack of nutrition and too much alcohol.
Relief swept through Castiel that nothing more sinister was at play, though he despaired of Dean's inability to look after himself properly. It was swiftly followed by anger that it had been within Sam's power to end his brother's torment two months ago and he had, for some unknown reason, chosen not to do so.
With an effort, Castiel pushed the anger aside and instead focused on getting his friend into bed. Gently, he shifted Dean so that the hunter's head was resting against his shoulder before he slipped his other arm under Dean's legs and then he rose effortlessly to his feet. For all of the hunter's bluster and sheer presence when awake and riled up, he was nearly weightless in Castiel's arms and he had a hard time reconciling his precious burden with the man he'd seen stand up all but fearlessly to demons and archangels alike. It caused a wave of protectiveness to wash over him and he vowed not to leave Dean alone for so long again. He'd thought he was granting the hunter what he wanted, to start a normal life unencumbered by the supernatural and reminders of what had been, but he'd clearly been wrong.
Castiel could still not see why Lisa could have wanted anything but to have Dean around, but she obviously had and Dean had been cut off from his dream and left completely alone. That ended now. He would not have Dean alone, even if he had to rearrange how he performed his duties in Heaven, he would see to it that he was able to spend time with his friend as the hunter deserved so much better than what he'd gotten.
He lowered the human to the bed as easily as he'd picked him up off the floor and then Castiel frowned. Normally Sam and Dean got changed before going to bed, though he had seen them simply fall asleep on top of the covers in their clothes as well. Deciding it was probably best to leave Dean as he was, Castiel pulled the covers over his friend and then brushed his fingers across the hunter's forehead, sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep. Briefly, he hesitated before lowering himself onto the opposite bed which he'd assumed to be Sam's.
In the past, he'd often used the time the Winchesters slept to fly off and do other things, but Castiel was strangely reluctant to leave Dean alone now. Not only had he just sent the hunter into a far deeper slumber than was normal for him, but Dean had proven himself to be more vulnerable when asleep and inebriated, as testified by the time it had allowed two hunters to sneak into his and Sam's room and kill them. The mere memory of finding their bodies the way he had, tore at Castiel in a way he wasn't familiar with and he tried to push aside the pain, focusing on the sleeping human before him.
Despite all odds, Dean was still alive and, if not well, then at least whole and uninjured. That was more than Castiel had dared hope for towards the end and he figured the rest could come in time. The memory and pain were, however, enough to make him decide to remain and watch over Dean as he slept. He could use the time to start altering how he ran things in Heaven.
With a twist of his Grace that was only just starting to come naturally to him, Castiel reached out towards the angel that had quickly proven to be invaluable to him when he'd returned to Heaven.
"Xarael."
It was something only an archangel could do, establish contact with only one, or a select few, angels. All the others had to make due with speaking to everyone at once.
"Yes, Castiel?"
/
Dean groaned, pain being the first thing to penetrate his consciousness. And penetrate it, it did. His whole body ached like he'd gone one-on-one with Ali or something stupid like that. Oh, no, wait, that had been a poltergeist if he wasn't mistaken, he had a vague recollection of being flung about like a rag doll before he'd managed to gank the little fucker. Which didn't explain why his lungs ached. Yes, he'd had the wind knocked out of him, but this didn't feel like that, no this felt like he'd been oxygen deprived, which he couldn't remember having happened.
The thought that the memory might be missing because he'd lost consciousness was quickly discarded as Dean knew he'd been alone on the hunt. If he'd passed out, he'd be dead. Besides, he could clearly remember the satisfaction he'd felt on finally killing the thing, so that didn't fit. Then what? And what the hell was that goddamn awful taste in his mouth? Had he forgotten to brush his teeth before he crashed?
The memories trickled in slowly at first- Cas, Lisa, sigils, wall- but then they hit a nexus- Sam- and exploded out from there.
Nine weeks.
Nine.
The number rolled in his head for a moment, the horror, pain and realization from before returning to him in a rush and then it was his stomach that was rolling. Acting on instinct, Dean dashed from the bed, nearly falling flat on his face as the sheets snagged on his left foot, and crashed to his knees in front of the stained porcelain god just as the meager contents of his stomach made a reappearance.
He heaved for a few minutes, alcohol and bile mixing in his mouth and the bowl as Dean tried to stop but failed. He felt strangely weak as if he'd been sick and was only just starting to get better. He hated it, but could only accept it as he tried to control his rebelling stomach. This was also doing nothing for the aching in his lungs.
Well, on the positive side, he'd gotten rid of the bad taste he'd had in his mouth. On the down side, he'd simply replaced it with another one. Didn't that just figure? Life sucked and why was he still constantly surprised by that? You'd think he'd have learned his lesson a long time ago. But, yeah, he'd never been the brightest crayon in the box, so perhaps it wasn't really all that surprising.
With a wave of utter exhaustion, Dean let himself go to slump over the toilet. Or, at least, that's what he should have done, but it wasn't happening despite the fact that he was no longer holding himself up. It was with that realization that his surroundings slowly started to come into focus. He became aware of the sickly yellow illumination from the room's crappy lights, the not quite white color of the tiles beneath his knees, the smell of mold and bleach, the sound of a soft voice whispering reassurances in his ear and the feel of a strong arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him back against an equally strong chest.
What the...
"Cas?" Dean croaked.
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"You passed out."
The words were said calmly as a matter of fact and Dean swallowed the impulse to argue with them, to state that he didn't faint. But what was the point? He was too tired to argue and he knew that it didn't really matter. Castiel wouldn't even know why he'd take offense to the words and, even if he did, he doubted it would matter. The angel simply didn't understand those types of notions.
"You must take better care of yourself, Dean."
Dean snorted as he closed his eyes. It would be so easy to allow himself to drift to sleep again right here. Though he was kneeling on the cold, hard floor, his back was pressed up against Cas' chest and the angel had an arm wrapped around him. It made him feel safer than he had in far too long and he didn't really want to think about that too closely. Besides, how often did this type of opportunity present itself?
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."
There was a gentle brush of fingers across his forehead and suddenly all of the pain was gone, both from his encounter with the poltergeist and from his desperate quest for oblivion. Surprised, Dean opened his eyes and twisted to look at the angel.
"Not that I'm not grateful, but isn't that like an abuse of your powers?"
The corners of Castiel's lips twitched upwards. "There is no longer anyone to tell me what I can and cannot do and I dislike seeing you in pain. I am only sorry that I didn't catch it earlier and spared you this."
"Oh that had nothing to do with the pain," Dean said as he reluctantly got to his feet and flushed the toilet.
The abrupt reminder had destroyed any chances he had of going back to sleep as the truth gnawed at him. The betrayal, pain, anger and complete lack of understanding rose within him once more, only this time Dean was aware of the fact that it was making him hyperventilate.
"Dean," Castiel was at his again, hands grasping his shoulders.
"It's okay, I got it," Dean said.
With an effort, he forced his breathing back to normal, not wanting to pass out again. But the pain, it was something terrible, hurting worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. More so than the last time. Dean suddenly felt something freeze within him as he realized that this was happening again, despite all of Sammy's promises and assurances to the contrary. God, what had he done to deserve this? And from his own brother whom he'd looked after his whole life.
Yet, despite all of that, Dean found himself unable to suppress his old instincts. The ones that cried for him to seek out his little brother; to make sure that Sammy was okay.
"Where is he?"
"What?"
"Sammy, where is he right now?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"He is hidden from me like you are," Castiel touched his chest in reminder. "I only know of his resurrection because of the disturbance it caused."
"Disturbance?"
"Yes, that type of action cannot be hidden."
"There has to be another way then, I have to find him," Dean insisted.
It was only because he was looking directly at the angel that he caught it, the slight hesitation that crossed Cas' face.
"Cas."
His tone left no room for misinterpretation, not even for Castiel. He needed to see Sam and he needed to do it now. Yes, there was a part of him that was crying out at the injustice of what his brother had done to him, but Dean tried to ignore it. Just like he tried to ignore the blinding pain that went with it.
All this time... all those weeks that he'd thought Sammy was stuck in Hell with Lucifer, being tortured by Lucifer. All those weeks of nightmares and recriminations, of self-doubt and failure. All those weeks of mental anguish and agony, thinking he'd not only failed his baby brother in Lawrence but was continuing to do so every single goddamn day where he failed to find a way to break him free. All those weeks of torture, of being trapped in his own personal hell, and all for what? For a brother who'd gotten free just one week after his imprisonment and who hadn't even bothered to come find him and let him know?
"Sam's resurrection isn't the only odd occurrence that has happened," Castiel said gravely.
"Huh?"
"About the same time someone brought your brother out of Hell, Heaven was attacked."
"Attacked?" Dean repeated in disbelief. "How? What were they after?"
"Not what, who," Castiel corrected. "Whoever it was that attacked knew what they were doing. The attack was directed at the human section of Heaven, the place were souls go when they arrive to spend the rest of eternity in peace. They also seemed to know where the soul they were after was going to be."
"They wanted a soul? Why?"
"To resurrect, apparently."
"They succeeded?"
"By killing two of my brothers."
The sadness in Castiel's tone surprised Dean. Yes, they were his brothers, but so were the angels that Castiel had killed during the Apocalypse and yet he'd never seemed to feel this much sorrow then.
"They were not dicks," Castiel stated, correctly following his train of thought.
"No?" Dean asked skeptically.
As far as he was concerned, there was only one angel that wasn't a dick and he was standing right in front of him.
"Dean, I know you have had only bad experiences with my brothers and sisters, but most are not like that."
"Could have fooled me."
"Many in Heaven were horrified to learn what had transpired when I told them," Castiel said. "They had thought they were following orders from Father, transmitted down the chain of command as always."
"And they didn't think anything odd about what was happening?"
"Dean, they didn't know the full extent of matters. If you recall, I was unaware of everything until such time as Zachariah deemed it necessary for me to know. Many of my brothers and sisters only knew as much as they had to in order to accomplish their assigned tasks."
"Preventing the right hand from knowing what the left hand was doing," Dean muttered.
It made sense, far too much sense, actually. If you wanted a bunch of angels to do something God probably wouldn't have approved of, then the best thing was the ensure that only a few realized what was going on. How many angels had he interacted with who really seemed to know Zachariah's end game? Raphael, Michael and, perhaps, the various lackeys Zachariah'd had with him almost every time he'd visited. Uriel definitely couldn't have known what his superior was planning or he'd never have interfered as his and Zach's goals partially overlapped, at least until Lucifer was freed.
So, could it really be true that the majority of Heaven's angels had been nothing but dupes in this whole fiasco? Dean wasn't so sure he believed that. Granted, some probably were, but the vast majority of them? That just seemed a little too convenient.
"Okay, so who'd they snag?" Dean demanded.
Castiel paused again, but only for a moment. "Your grandfather."
"My- which one?"
"Samuel Campbell."
A.N.: Having just seen 6.03, I can say that this story will now be even more wildly AU than I'd thought it would be. Oh well, I've got my plan and I'm sticking to it.
Chapter 5
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: up to and including Exile on Main St., AU from the end of season 5
Warnings: AU
Word Count: 2,739
Summary: The consequences of the truth.
PAST
"Dean?" Castiel asked, worried.
The hunter's breathing was starting to accelerate and come in short, quick bursts that Castiel doubted were good for him. His voice clearly failed to penetrate whatever thoughts were currently racing through Dean's mind as it went completely unacknowledged. The change in breathing was accompanied by a change in heart rate and he could feel it racing beneath his hand as he clasped Dean's neck, attempting to make the hunter look at him. Although he succeeded in turning Dean's head, his plan failed as the familiar green eyes were glossy as if focused on something far away that he could not see.
Castiel silently cursed the younger Winchester for doing this to his brother and tried to think of what to do next. Dean was clearly being torn apart by the truth he'd just learned and he half wished to take it back but knew he could never do that to his charge. Much as the knowledge hurt Dean, lying to him would only have hurt him that much worse when the truth eventually came to light, as it inevitably would. He didn't understand why Sam would keep his return from Dean, but he knew that there was nothing that could justify it.
Then, before Castiel could try anything else, Dean's body suddenly went limp and the angel's hand at his neck was the only thing stopping him from slumping to the floor and hitting his head.
"Dean!" Castiel exclaimed urgently.
His other hand reached out and carefully brushed the hunter's forehead, tendrils of Grace reaching out to assess his condition. What Castiel got back was a miasma of swirling emotions and physical demands. It would appear that Dean had once again been ignoring his body's need for sustenance and rest in favor of drinking far too much. The betrayal, anger and deep-seated pain lingered even as his mind shut down under a combination of emotional stress, lack of oxygen and bone deep fatigue, all enhanced by a lack of nutrition and too much alcohol.
Relief swept through Castiel that nothing more sinister was at play, though he despaired of Dean's inability to look after himself properly. It was swiftly followed by anger that it had been within Sam's power to end his brother's torment two months ago and he had, for some unknown reason, chosen not to do so.
With an effort, Castiel pushed the anger aside and instead focused on getting his friend into bed. Gently, he shifted Dean so that the hunter's head was resting against his shoulder before he slipped his other arm under Dean's legs and then he rose effortlessly to his feet. For all of the hunter's bluster and sheer presence when awake and riled up, he was nearly weightless in Castiel's arms and he had a hard time reconciling his precious burden with the man he'd seen stand up all but fearlessly to demons and archangels alike. It caused a wave of protectiveness to wash over him and he vowed not to leave Dean alone for so long again. He'd thought he was granting the hunter what he wanted, to start a normal life unencumbered by the supernatural and reminders of what had been, but he'd clearly been wrong.
Castiel could still not see why Lisa could have wanted anything but to have Dean around, but she obviously had and Dean had been cut off from his dream and left completely alone. That ended now. He would not have Dean alone, even if he had to rearrange how he performed his duties in Heaven, he would see to it that he was able to spend time with his friend as the hunter deserved so much better than what he'd gotten.
He lowered the human to the bed as easily as he'd picked him up off the floor and then Castiel frowned. Normally Sam and Dean got changed before going to bed, though he had seen them simply fall asleep on top of the covers in their clothes as well. Deciding it was probably best to leave Dean as he was, Castiel pulled the covers over his friend and then brushed his fingers across the hunter's forehead, sending him into a deep, dreamless sleep. Briefly, he hesitated before lowering himself onto the opposite bed which he'd assumed to be Sam's.
In the past, he'd often used the time the Winchesters slept to fly off and do other things, but Castiel was strangely reluctant to leave Dean alone now. Not only had he just sent the hunter into a far deeper slumber than was normal for him, but Dean had proven himself to be more vulnerable when asleep and inebriated, as testified by the time it had allowed two hunters to sneak into his and Sam's room and kill them. The mere memory of finding their bodies the way he had, tore at Castiel in a way he wasn't familiar with and he tried to push aside the pain, focusing on the sleeping human before him.
Despite all odds, Dean was still alive and, if not well, then at least whole and uninjured. That was more than Castiel had dared hope for towards the end and he figured the rest could come in time. The memory and pain were, however, enough to make him decide to remain and watch over Dean as he slept. He could use the time to start altering how he ran things in Heaven.
With a twist of his Grace that was only just starting to come naturally to him, Castiel reached out towards the angel that had quickly proven to be invaluable to him when he'd returned to Heaven.
"Xarael."
It was something only an archangel could do, establish contact with only one, or a select few, angels. All the others had to make due with speaking to everyone at once.
"Yes, Castiel?"
/
Dean groaned, pain being the first thing to penetrate his consciousness. And penetrate it, it did. His whole body ached like he'd gone one-on-one with Ali or something stupid like that. Oh, no, wait, that had been a poltergeist if he wasn't mistaken, he had a vague recollection of being flung about like a rag doll before he'd managed to gank the little fucker. Which didn't explain why his lungs ached. Yes, he'd had the wind knocked out of him, but this didn't feel like that, no this felt like he'd been oxygen deprived, which he couldn't remember having happened.
The thought that the memory might be missing because he'd lost consciousness was quickly discarded as Dean knew he'd been alone on the hunt. If he'd passed out, he'd be dead. Besides, he could clearly remember the satisfaction he'd felt on finally killing the thing, so that didn't fit. Then what? And what the hell was that goddamn awful taste in his mouth? Had he forgotten to brush his teeth before he crashed?
The memories trickled in slowly at first- Cas, Lisa, sigils, wall- but then they hit a nexus- Sam- and exploded out from there.
Nine weeks.
Nine.
The number rolled in his head for a moment, the horror, pain and realization from before returning to him in a rush and then it was his stomach that was rolling. Acting on instinct, Dean dashed from the bed, nearly falling flat on his face as the sheets snagged on his left foot, and crashed to his knees in front of the stained porcelain god just as the meager contents of his stomach made a reappearance.
He heaved for a few minutes, alcohol and bile mixing in his mouth and the bowl as Dean tried to stop but failed. He felt strangely weak as if he'd been sick and was only just starting to get better. He hated it, but could only accept it as he tried to control his rebelling stomach. This was also doing nothing for the aching in his lungs.
Well, on the positive side, he'd gotten rid of the bad taste he'd had in his mouth. On the down side, he'd simply replaced it with another one. Didn't that just figure? Life sucked and why was he still constantly surprised by that? You'd think he'd have learned his lesson a long time ago. But, yeah, he'd never been the brightest crayon in the box, so perhaps it wasn't really all that surprising.
With a wave of utter exhaustion, Dean let himself go to slump over the toilet. Or, at least, that's what he should have done, but it wasn't happening despite the fact that he was no longer holding himself up. It was with that realization that his surroundings slowly started to come into focus. He became aware of the sickly yellow illumination from the room's crappy lights, the not quite white color of the tiles beneath his knees, the smell of mold and bleach, the sound of a soft voice whispering reassurances in his ear and the feel of a strong arm wrapped around his chest, pulling him back against an equally strong chest.
What the...
"Cas?" Dean croaked.
"Yes."
"What happened?"
"You passed out."
The words were said calmly as a matter of fact and Dean swallowed the impulse to argue with them, to state that he didn't faint. But what was the point? He was too tired to argue and he knew that it didn't really matter. Castiel wouldn't even know why he'd take offense to the words and, even if he did, he doubted it would matter. The angel simply didn't understand those types of notions.
"You must take better care of yourself, Dean."
Dean snorted as he closed his eyes. It would be so easy to allow himself to drift to sleep again right here. Though he was kneeling on the cold, hard floor, his back was pressed up against Cas' chest and the angel had an arm wrapped around him. It made him feel safer than he had in far too long and he didn't really want to think about that too closely. Besides, how often did this type of opportunity present itself?
"Yeah, I'll keep that in mind."
There was a gentle brush of fingers across his forehead and suddenly all of the pain was gone, both from his encounter with the poltergeist and from his desperate quest for oblivion. Surprised, Dean opened his eyes and twisted to look at the angel.
"Not that I'm not grateful, but isn't that like an abuse of your powers?"
The corners of Castiel's lips twitched upwards. "There is no longer anyone to tell me what I can and cannot do and I dislike seeing you in pain. I am only sorry that I didn't catch it earlier and spared you this."
"Oh that had nothing to do with the pain," Dean said as he reluctantly got to his feet and flushed the toilet.
The abrupt reminder had destroyed any chances he had of going back to sleep as the truth gnawed at him. The betrayal, pain, anger and complete lack of understanding rose within him once more, only this time Dean was aware of the fact that it was making him hyperventilate.
"Dean," Castiel was at his again, hands grasping his shoulders.
"It's okay, I got it," Dean said.
With an effort, he forced his breathing back to normal, not wanting to pass out again. But the pain, it was something terrible, hurting worse than anything he'd ever experienced before. More so than the last time. Dean suddenly felt something freeze within him as he realized that this was happening again, despite all of Sammy's promises and assurances to the contrary. God, what had he done to deserve this? And from his own brother whom he'd looked after his whole life.
Yet, despite all of that, Dean found himself unable to suppress his old instincts. The ones that cried for him to seek out his little brother; to make sure that Sammy was okay.
"Where is he?"
"What?"
"Sammy, where is he right now?"
"I don't know."
"What do you mean you don't know?"
"He is hidden from me like you are," Castiel touched his chest in reminder. "I only know of his resurrection because of the disturbance it caused."
"Disturbance?"
"Yes, that type of action cannot be hidden."
"There has to be another way then, I have to find him," Dean insisted.
It was only because he was looking directly at the angel that he caught it, the slight hesitation that crossed Cas' face.
"Cas."
His tone left no room for misinterpretation, not even for Castiel. He needed to see Sam and he needed to do it now. Yes, there was a part of him that was crying out at the injustice of what his brother had done to him, but Dean tried to ignore it. Just like he tried to ignore the blinding pain that went with it.
All this time... all those weeks that he'd thought Sammy was stuck in Hell with Lucifer, being tortured by Lucifer. All those weeks of nightmares and recriminations, of self-doubt and failure. All those weeks of mental anguish and agony, thinking he'd not only failed his baby brother in Lawrence but was continuing to do so every single goddamn day where he failed to find a way to break him free. All those weeks of torture, of being trapped in his own personal hell, and all for what? For a brother who'd gotten free just one week after his imprisonment and who hadn't even bothered to come find him and let him know?
"Sam's resurrection isn't the only odd occurrence that has happened," Castiel said gravely.
"Huh?"
"About the same time someone brought your brother out of Hell, Heaven was attacked."
"Attacked?" Dean repeated in disbelief. "How? What were they after?"
"Not what, who," Castiel corrected. "Whoever it was that attacked knew what they were doing. The attack was directed at the human section of Heaven, the place were souls go when they arrive to spend the rest of eternity in peace. They also seemed to know where the soul they were after was going to be."
"They wanted a soul? Why?"
"To resurrect, apparently."
"They succeeded?"
"By killing two of my brothers."
The sadness in Castiel's tone surprised Dean. Yes, they were his brothers, but so were the angels that Castiel had killed during the Apocalypse and yet he'd never seemed to feel this much sorrow then.
"They were not dicks," Castiel stated, correctly following his train of thought.
"No?" Dean asked skeptically.
As far as he was concerned, there was only one angel that wasn't a dick and he was standing right in front of him.
"Dean, I know you have had only bad experiences with my brothers and sisters, but most are not like that."
"Could have fooled me."
"Many in Heaven were horrified to learn what had transpired when I told them," Castiel said. "They had thought they were following orders from Father, transmitted down the chain of command as always."
"And they didn't think anything odd about what was happening?"
"Dean, they didn't know the full extent of matters. If you recall, I was unaware of everything until such time as Zachariah deemed it necessary for me to know. Many of my brothers and sisters only knew as much as they had to in order to accomplish their assigned tasks."
"Preventing the right hand from knowing what the left hand was doing," Dean muttered.
It made sense, far too much sense, actually. If you wanted a bunch of angels to do something God probably wouldn't have approved of, then the best thing was the ensure that only a few realized what was going on. How many angels had he interacted with who really seemed to know Zachariah's end game? Raphael, Michael and, perhaps, the various lackeys Zachariah'd had with him almost every time he'd visited. Uriel definitely couldn't have known what his superior was planning or he'd never have interfered as his and Zach's goals partially overlapped, at least until Lucifer was freed.
So, could it really be true that the majority of Heaven's angels had been nothing but dupes in this whole fiasco? Dean wasn't so sure he believed that. Granted, some probably were, but the vast majority of them? That just seemed a little too convenient.
"Okay, so who'd they snag?" Dean demanded.
Castiel paused again, but only for a moment. "Your grandfather."
"My- which one?"
"Samuel Campbell."
A.N.: Having just seen 6.03, I can say that this story will now be even more wildly AU than I'd thought it would be. Oh well, I've got my plan and I'm sticking to it.
Chapter 5