Arms Wide Open. Part Ten.
Part 10/13
Glinting In The Deeper Levels. [March 16th, 1999]
Dean.
The days of burnt toast and rare meat were officially over in the Singer-Winchester household. When they realized it would take some time to introduce Sammy to the world of culinary variety, Bobby began researching farmer’s markets and organic food as if he were gearing up for a hunt. “Kid only eats bread and friggin' apples,” he’d said, “so he’d better get the best there is.” Naturally, Dean was all for it. Bobby goes shopping twice a week, Saturdays to Garretson and Wednesdays all the way to Freeman. To the older hunter’s dismay and to Dean’s astonishment, they still haven’t covered all the vegetables, because "you can’t buy what’s not growing, idjit.”
Castiel becomes a regular visitor, although he mostly spends time with Bobby. The angel insists that meeting Sammy could throw off the precious balance they’ve established. No one wants that, obviously. And since Dean is with his brother basically 24/7, that’s that. But neither Bobby nor Cas seem to be bothered by the arrangement - the only difference to their previous routine worth mentioning is that Cas now acts as Bobby’s personal shopper, too. And since it doesn’t get any fresher than buying the world’s best leeks right from the farm in Switzerland, that’s what Cas is doing when the shit hits the fan.
Dean is sitting on his cot outside of the panic room, book in his lap and eyes closed. Sammy had had a bad night. There’s not much Dean can do about that. It’s not as if they could huddle up under the blankets and talk this through, like when they were small and Sammy loved to talk and being wrapped in Dean’s arms kept the nightmares at bay. No, things like that are out of the question. What he can do is tell his brother that he’s not alone. “Go to sleep, Sammy,” he’ll say, “everything’s alright. You’re safe here.”
Some nights, that works. Not last night, though, so they spent hours listening to each other’s breath and waiting for the darkness to pass. Now it’s early afternoon and Dean is tired. So he puts the book down and leans his head against the wall, just for a second.
“Dean Winchester,” someone says and Dean jerks awake. In front of him, right in the middle of Bobby’s fucking basement, stands the demon overlord. Suit, unsmiling smile, and all. Dean scrambles to his feet in an initial moment of panic. A sawed-off and his gun are under his cot and a knife lies under his pillow but neither will help against a demon.
“Bobby,” he shouts, thoughts frantic, and then he remembers that Sammy is in the panic room. Nothing, not demon, angel, spook or whatever, can get in there. He takes a breath, slaps on his most condescending smile, and says, “Hello there.”
“Hello,” the demon says. My, how civil we are.
“Hello,” Bobby adds, from behind the thing, “And who would you be?”
The demon doesn’t turn around and a smile spreads on his face. “Bobby Singer.” It’s expression twitches with megalomaniacal glee. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Zachariah.”
Dean looks at the thing and hopes it’ll bleed pretty. “Zachariah.” He nods. “Zach.” Dead, dead Zach. This son of a bitch is going to burn for what he did to Sammy.
“Yes,” the demon says and behind him Bobby throws the first bottle of holy water at it. Zachariah’s smile widens and he snatches the bottle out of the air without turning away from Dean.
“Now, enough with the pleasantries,” it says, “I have come for the boy.”
Dean stares at him, unbelieving. He sure hopes Bobby has some other tricks up his sleeve. Cas, for example. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen,” he says.
“Oh, I beg to differ.” The thing tilts its head to the side and for a moment Dean is sickeningly reminded of Cas. Behind him, Bobby starts reading something from a book, but he must be whispering. Dean only sees his mouth move. The demon smiles again.
“Now, Bobby. I can finish that exorcism for you if you’d like.” Bobby stops midsentence and stares at Dean. “Potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, et ecta diabolica. Ergo blah blah blah. Honestly. Enough already.”
“But,” Bobby says.
“Not a demon,” the thing singsongs as if that were the best news in the world. Which it very well might be because that would make it much easier to kill. Bobby is apparently thinking the same thing, so when Dean grabs his knife and goes for Zachariah’s jugular, Bobby swings his machete at his neck. Both their weapons vanish with a pop. No way, Dean thinks.
“Now, I have been patient because I like you, Dean. We expect great things from you. But I can’t say I’m a fan of the hostility.”
“What the hell are you?” Don’t say it, he thinks.
“I told you, my name is Zachariah.” It smiles its best cruel smile. “I am an angel of the Lord.”
“No you’re not,” Dean says, but now that he looks at him, he knows it’s true.
“Well,” Zachariah says, “Not that this wasn’t fun and all, but like I said. I’m here for the boy. You clearly see that he’s no good for pretty much anything. So I’m taking him back.” The angel’s voice turns sleazy; digs into his skin. Dean craves a shower just listening to it.
“You of all things? You're taking him back? You broke him!” Dean glares at Zach. “He doesn’t even remember me, and I‘m his brother, you fugly son of a bitch. You aren’t getting him. You want him, you’ll have to go through me first.” He walks to the open door of the panic room and folds his arms in front of his chest. He’s unarmed, but they don’t know how to kill angels, anyway. He can only hope to stall this bastard long enough for Cas to pop back in.
“Being his brother means nothing. You have no claim over him. He is nothing but a tool, and a dark one at that. He will be used as the Lord commands. He will do what is asked of him.” The angel’s gaze flits from Dean to a point to his left. “And when the time comes he might even be able to save his soul in doing so. Isn’t that right, boy?” Dean prays that the kid has enough common sense to stay in the panic room.
“It’s time for us to go,” the angel says and Sammy walks up next to Dean, silent as a ghost. This is so not happening. Also, what did that bastard just say?
“Is that what you’ve been feeding him? That he's some tool and that you’ll use him for- for god’s work? You’re crazy!” Zachariah ignores him and steps closer. “Get the hell away from him! I’ll kill you, you hear? You're dead for what you did to him. He was six! Six! And you, what, you take him and torture him for some fucked up angel scheme?”
“That’s enough,” the angel says and raises his hand - Bobby shoots him in the back, twice. Zachariah doesn’t twitch, but he looks pissed now. He barely jerks his head and Bobby goes flying into the back wall. He crashes into an old shelf and goes down, hard. He doesn’t get back up. Zachariah looks from Sammy to Dean, and Dean knows he’s about to lose the kid.
“No!” he says and spreads an arm in front of his brother’s chest. Both to keep Sammy from walking any further into this mad angel’s reach and to keep the attention on himself. “You’re not getting him. You’ll have to kill me first.” He means it too, although he seriously wishes Cas would hurry the fuck up. How long does it take to zap to Switzerland and back again, anyway?
“Now, I don’t think that will be necessary,” the angel says and Dean’s arm falls to his side. He stares at Zachariah and tries to turn to Sammy, but he can’t fucking move. Bobby’s still down. The angel takes a step back, nods at Dean with a satisfied expression, and turns to Sammy.
“Come here, boy.”
No, Dean wants to scream, don’t you do it, Sammy! Don’t! He can’t even twitch his finger. He starts to sweat. Sammy steps in front of him and keeps his head lowered.
“You made quite a mess of things.”
Sammy fucking nods. He hasn’t done anything, can’t even decide what to wear most days, and now that fucking bastard is gonna lay this on him? Dean feels like his head might explode. Then Zachariah smiles, ugly and knowing and full of menace. He smiles at Dean and Sammy doesn’t see it because he won’t even look at this monster. But Dean does, and in that second he sees the truth in the bastard’s eyes. The angel enjoys this. He gets a kick from seeing Sammy suffer. He screams at the thing, in his mind, and he doesn’t even spend time on words. It’s primal, pure rage; a sound that echoes through every corner of his being. He is fury. If he could move, he would tear the angel apart with his bare hands. The bastard knows Sammy didn’t do a thing! Dean is looking right through him and then Zachariah’s smile widens. He knows that Dean knows.
“What were you thinking?” Zachariah asks. But Dean can tell that this isn’t just about Sammy. This is for him, too. The angel is putting on a sick, twisted show for him and Sammy’s gonna suffer for it. He starts sweating for real. If he could only reach his gun- he wouldn’t be able to kill Zachariah, but at least he’d get the satisfaction of emptying his clip into that slimy little bastard. He can’t even blink, though, much less grab the gun. A second later, Sammy goes down. He folds over in the middle, wraps his hands around his stomach, and falls forward. He doesn’t gasp or scream or try to protect his fall. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open, but Dean isn’t sure he’s breathing. Oh god. Is he breathing? He starts screaming in his head again, only this time he's screaming Sammy over and over again. Zachariah chuckles and Sammy whimpers. Thank god. He’s alive.
Castiel.
Castiel supposes this go unheeded by Zachariah because Zachariah isn’t as attuned to the Winchesters as Castiel is. He ascertains the limits of the other angel’s presence and makes sure that Zachariah isn’t deep enough for this; that he is blind to it. But Castiel knew what to look for. When he’d felt Sam’s shield break under Zachariah’s attack, Castiel delved right in, guided by the recoiling energy and Dean’s screams of rage and despair. His senses tingle with the preliminary stages of a resouled emotional bond in the making. Any second now, it should happen. The offset of energetic balance will right itself - or so he hopes. It’s not as if this were a common occurrence, not even in angelic perception of time. It is a thing of ancient stories and rumors at best. No one he knows has actually seen it; there aren’t as many soul mates as is universally believed.
Castiel stands next to Zachariah, unseen to humans and angel alike, and he watches the knitting of the planes. Things connect that can’t be held together; eventualities arise out of nothing but shadow. Here, in this moment, things are possible. It’s like watching a flower open up to the sun. It can’t be prevented because it is meant to be. It is small until it makes all the difference in the world. Only, this is beautiful and disastrous and pure. It is infinite.
Castiel is alone here. Zachariah is too close to the surface; he’s eons away. The brothers are here, of course, but then again not. Their very core of existence is, though, their innermost glowings. Castiel is close enough to touch them, but he doesn’t dare.
He feels sorry for them. They won’t be able to remember this, if they’re aware of it at all - they’re deep enough for the edges to fray. Even angels don’t go this far all that often, there's rarely a need for such intrusion. No, he thinks, this will remain unnoticed by the brothers. But Castiel is here, he will witness, and he will carry this with him forever and remember it for them.
Soft little tendrils of fear and love and despair and pain writhe away from Sam and Dean, and Castiel lets go of his grace. The aching loss of the Winchester brothers sounds through it like a bell struck. The vibrations reach further than Castiel has ever been. Where Dean and Sam blindly reach out for comfort, reality ripples; tendrils coil and reshape and keep extending. Finally, the first connection is made and the brothers’ cores start to shine; all of the lower levels go silent. Whatever has enough awareness to exist here either holds its breath or weeps. Castiel does both.
With each following unification, he can feel golden sparks of creation ruffle through his wings - being multidimensional does have its perks. He stretches himself a little further; he needs to go deeper still. He coils his wings around the humans, unperceived by all but maybe the Lord; he encircles them whole and the grandness of their ruin nearly breaks him. It’s not like being caught in a storm - he is the storm, or maybe the brothers are the storm and Castiel simply holds them together. He can’t quite tell; has never experienced anything like it, but he knows he is privileged to be a part of this. It’s an aureate thing to witness, literally. His grace sings with all their longing, all their agony and sorrow and their jubilating souls. Where the golden sparks singe him, white hot love seeps through. He wishes he could stay here, but he knows that Zachariah is wrong to pursue this. He needs to stop it, and for that, Castiel has to leave.
Zachariah raises his eyebrows when the boy on the ground stops moving. Castiel steps up into his sight and says, “He is all about protection.” Zachariah follows that thought and looks at Dean, who is similarly frozen in the time pocket they just entered.
He focuses back on the other angel. “Castiel. I thought we agreed on refraining from this kind of communication. The risk that they notice is to great.”
The admonishment brushes Castiel, but he stays unmoving. “I have observed these humans for many months, both seen and unseen. They will not detect this. In their perception, this is not happening.” Also, they are a little busy right now. He thinks of golden sparks and smiles.
“If you say so. Although I wonder why I should trust you with anything anymore. It was your poor choice of action that led us here. You couldn’t even keep two otherwise incapable humans from getting to the boy.” The anger lashes out and strikes him, but once more Castiel doesn’t move. He can’t afford to lose this.
“I am truly sorry about that. I know my failure is inexcusable. But there might be a way to get them back on track.”
“I have told you before, Castiel, that going back in time again is neither wise nor possible. Reality is already stretched; the veils are fading. Even time pockets as small as this one are dangerous. This must be the last of them for the foreseeable future.” Zachariah tilts his head. “How come you are powerful enough to create a pocket, anyway?”
“I don’t know. The sigil must not have cost me as much as we estimated.”
“Very well. No more pockets, though. It’s too risky.”
“Of course. You are right. But still this could work in our favor. Dean is all about protection.” Castiel keeps up a steady stream of inspiration and hopes for the best, accidentally.
In the end it’s those flitters of hope that swerve Zachariah, and he inclines his head ever so slightly. “So you said.”
“So let us give him something that Sam needs protection from.” Castiel holds his breath and feels nothing, so he forges on. “They have grown used to me, and already distrust you, so we can use that to our advantage. If you were to threaten the boy’s life but were unable to follow through, it might give Dean the incentive to keep working with me. Let him protect his brother and I will continue to watch them both. It’s worth a try. The situation may escalate if we attempt to keep them apart any longer. Let’s not waste all the progress we made in this matter.”
Zachariah looks from Sam to Dean, then back to Castiel. “Have you forgotten the initial timeline? How dangerous they were together, how sickeningly intertwined? How they thwarted all our efforts, revolted against the glorious plan of the Lord any chance they got?
“No. Of course not. I understand that they were dangerous in their selfishness. But we accomplished what you wished for, did we not? They know nothing of that, and Samuel Winchester is aware of his tainted blood. He will try to redeem himself and do what you say.” Castiel offers humble pride and adoration. “Or was there anything else you wished for?”
Zachariah sighs. “What I wish for is to stop this little charade. The Winchesters turn out to be the bane of my existence. Again!”
“But we still might need them," Castiel insists. "Both of them. John Winchester stays hidden, so I assume nothing has changed from my initial assignment. This is the last of the Winchester bloodline.” Castiel can see the suspicion take hold of Zachariah once again.
“You don’t have to tell me, Castiel. I know what is at stake. But your orders were simple: to make sure the bloodline survives to fulfill its role. You were not supposed to bond with them or to hunt with them, or to heal their acquaintances or any of that. If I didn’t know better, I would say you have grown fond of these humans.”
“Trust is difficult to come by in their world. I figured it best to offer them my help. It will make things easier in the long run. Dean Winchester was not eager to help with our cause when we offered it to him the first time. This way, when the time comes, he might trust my judgment.”
“Yes, yes, very well.” Zachariah hesitates and once more narrows his eyes at Castiel. “How did you gain their trust, anyway?”
“I let them believe they saved my life.”
“That is ridiculous. Even these two can’t be vain enough to believe that.”
“It has been a long time since humans have been familiar with us. I doubt that they acted out of arrogance. It is much more likely that they have no grasp on the kind of power we possess.” Castiel thinks back to Florence, Wisconsin and holds back the fondness at these memories. “It was quite impressive, though. Ensouled nature, rising soil and exploding trees; self-consuming fire and sparks rising to the sky. Much like the old days.”
“Ah.” Zachariah smiles. “I see. Genesis 19:24, good times.” Then he tilts his head at Castiel. “You should show them how powerful you are. This Dean Winchester is different from the previous one. Maybe he will be easier to control when he is intimidated.” Castiel doubts that displaying his power by setting Wisconsin ablaze would have helped him to win Dean’s and Bobby’s trust. He cannot lose their confidence, because for Dean to survive Castiel needs to find John Winchester. And to do that, he needs their help. They have to trust him.
“He might be different here,” Castiel says, “But he’s still a hunter. This is the only way it will work.”
Zachariah nods. “Very well. We will try what you proposed.” He levels one last glance at the other angel. “I still think it strange that you would spend so much time around them, though.”
“I do your bidding, Zachariah. I am here to protect them.”
Dean.
He can blink and twitch his fingers. The angel must have tired himself out. Torturing Sammy, he thinks bitterly, but right now he’ll take what he can get. He needs to move. Sweat continues to pour from him, but little by little, he feels control return to his limbs. He shifts his weight and smiles inwardly. Any minute now, no matter whether Cas is here or not, he will rip the smile from the angel bastard’s face. He’ll claw it off if necessary.
Dean glances down to his brother who is still whimpering in agony. Dean would give anything to swap places. Zachariah looks up from Sammy, and this time he doesn’t smile.
“I will take the boy now. It’s for his own good. We protected him this far and we intend to keep doing so.”
Finally, Dean can move. His body aches with the strain, but he doesn’t care. He can’t let that angel dick take Sammy. “You protected him from what? Demons? Lilith?” he spits through his teeth.
Zachariah’s gaze becomes icy. “And what would you know about Lilith?”
“Oh, just that she likes to snag children and-”
The angel shakes his head but he looks oddly relieved. “Oh, I know that story. But see, Lilith is so much more than what the lore makes her out to be. You should be thankful that we kept the boy out of her reach. We know that she has tried to find and kill him before.”
Dean has no chance to poke Zachariah for additional information because in that moment, Cas appears in the basement with a rustle of feathers. Dean is so happy to see him that he silently vows not to make fun of the way the angel clutches the basket of organic vegetables to his trench coat-clad chest. Cas takes in his surroundings and says, “I’m sorry I'm late,” as if this were a freaking dinner party. He zaps over to Bobby and does his finger-mojo thing and finally, Bobby is back amongst the living. He sits up slowly and leans against the wall, not all there yet as it seems. Then, Cas zaps right next to Dean and faces Zachariah. Dean feels giddy with relief.
“Castiel.” Zachariah says.
“Zachariah.” Castiel nods. “What are you doing here?”
“Wait a minute,” Dean says, “you two know each other?”
Castiel tilts his head in that irritating angelic way. “All of the heavenly hosts know each other.” Not an inkling of guilt or apology in his voice.
“But- Cas! I asked you about the demon overlord and you said you didn’t know who he was.” Castiel looks honestly confused.
“That is true,” he says.
Dean throws his hands in the air and points at Zachariah. “He is the demon overlord.”
Castiel shakes his head. “No he is not. Zachariah is an angel of the Lord.” Dean refrains from throttling Castiel, barely.
“Yeah. Thanks for the update, Cas.”
“Well,” Zachariah interjects, “As much as this little cabaret entertains me, I have things to do.”
“What, you wanna add another six year old to your collection?” Zachariah is not amused. Sam, who hasn’t moved from where he fell on the floor earlier, starts whimpering again.
“Son of a bitch- leave him alone already! What did he ever do to you? Pick on someone your own size, for once.” With that, Dean gives Castiel a little shove. In the background, Bobby tries to get to his feet and ends up on all fours, amidst the contents of the shelf he’d knocked over. Maybe the finger mojo needs a little fine-tuning, Dean thinks.
“This has taken long enough,” Zachariah says. “I am here for the boy. He will come with me.”
“The boy stays,” Castiel says. “This is where he belongs. We will protect him.”
Dean nods. “Damn straight we will.”
“This is not debatable,” the taller angel looks at Dean and the cruel, torturous smile is back. “You cannot ensure his safety. The boy comes with me or I end him.”
“You- what?” Dean sputters and seriously hopes he misheard.
“And what good would that do?” Castiel asks.
Zachariah shrugs. “It would ensure that he can’t be corrupted. So, will you hand him over?”
“No!” Dean says. On the floor, Sammy starts coughing blood. “Stop hurting him! He’s suffered enough. Stop it, goddamnit, stop it!” Sam jerks erratically against the floor. “Sammy?” His brother is wheezing and doesn’t open his eyes. “Cas, do something!”
Zachariah looks at Dean with cold appraisal. “He might be drowning in his own blood right now but he’s had worse. Don’t worry, he’ll bounce back. Quite the resilient little abomin-”
“Zachariah,” Castiel says, “that is enough.”
“Fuck you,” Dean shouts in Zach’s direction and smacks Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas, I swear to god, you better-“ Sammy stops coughing and wheezing, which can’t be good. Dean falls to his knees to see what he can do to help, but there’s nothing. Sammy can’t breathe properly, and Dean crouches next to him and checks for his brother’s pulse; it’s fast and trembling. A small trickle of red seeps from the corner of his mouth into the dusty floor.
“Nonono. Don’t do this to me, Sammy. Fight this.” Sam doesn’t even twitch. “Sam, can you hear me? Don’t do this, you can’t just give up. You have to fight!” Sammy’s lips are turning blue. “Sam!”
“Stop this,” Castiel says, calm as anything.
That’s it, Dean thinks. He’s had it with this crazy angel; madness is nothing but infectious. He stretches from where he kneels on the ground and fishes his gun out from under the cot. “Stop it, right now, or so help me.” His gun points right at that sick little smile.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Zachariah says.
“Try me.”
“Stop it now, Zachariah, this is enough!” At least Cas gets with the program now and sounds appropriately pissed. Sammy’s movements slow and more blood drips onto the basement floor. In the background, Bobby is frantically moving over some bed linen on the floor. Maybe they've all got some of Zachariah’s crazy on them, now. Dean pulls the trigger.
Castiel is everywhere at once. He slaps away Dean’s hand so the bullet goes wild. He is right up in the other angel’s face when Zach starts his holier-than-thou-wrath thing; wings and thunder and all. Cas waves at the pile of Sammy on the ground and his brother goes flying through the air, right into the panic room, and its door clangs shut behind him. Sammy goes limp midflight; it’s the last thing Dean sees of him.
Dean stares at Castiel for a moment before he throws himself at the panic room door. “What the hell did you do?”
“Did you not want me to stop his suffering?” The angel sounds utterly surprised. “I assure you he is not feeling pain anymore.”
Oh no, no no no, please. Please let him be alive. “Is he- is he alive?”
Cas throws him a look of utter indignity. “Of course he is.”
“Well, good. “ Dean steps away from where he tried to claw through several inches of metal. He adjusts his shirt and clears his throat. “He better be.”
Zachariah is seething. “That room will not keep him safe forever. I will get the boy.”
“Over my dead body.” Dean means it.
“That can be arranged.”
Castiel’s head snaps up. Both angels tilt their head and settle their piercing glare on to the other. It’s like an angelic freakshow version of who blinks first.
“You wouldn’t dare harm him,” Cas says.
“Why? It might do him good to get some common sense smacked into him. He just tried to shoot me.”
“No.” If anyone were to ever express his horror at blasphemy in one word, that would’ve been it; Castiel’s the man.
“Ah, Castiel. Always such a spoilsport. I wouldn’t kill him, of course. Just remind him of the natural order of things. And of his place in it.”
“No,” Castiel repeats. In the background Bobby finally gets to his feet. He clutches the sheet he'd been bent over to his chest as he slowly walks towards them. He stares at Zachariah and his face is grim. Then he glances over to Dean, and the smile that spreads on Bobby's face is scary as fuck. Dean hopes that angel-madness in humans can be reversed. This isn’t a good look on Bobby. The older hunter clears his throat.
“Sorry to break this up, but you two are getting on my nerves. You especially, you sanctimonious bastard.” Bobby nods at Zachariah. Dean hopes the man doesn’t do anything stupid. Well, no more than usual. “Unfortunately for you, we humans aren’t quite as thick as you’d like us to be.” He uncrosses his arms and in one fluid motion the sheet follows suit. It unfolds and turns its back to the front in the process. Bobby bites into the sheet where he’s holding it up with his right hand, and slaps his freed bloody palm onto the crude red marks. A familiar thunder rolls through the air and sharp whiteness devours everything. Angel sigil, Dean thinks, and he’s never been so glad to have Bobby at his side.
Dean feels bad to even think it, but it turns out he's kind of happy about Zach storming in and torturing Sammy. Because somewhere along the way, Sammy accepted the fact that he indeed has a brother, and that Dean is the real deal.
After the angels were gone, Dean had finally crashed his way into the panic room to check on his little brother - who still had blood on his face, but was breathing deeply and evenly and sleeping behind the cot. Bobby and he spent the rest of the day angel-proofing the shit out of the place. No way in hell was that angel dick getting near Sammy ever again.
In the evening, they bring Sammy some fresh vegetable soup and a little bread and cheese. Dean is happy to see the kid upright and mercifully blood-free. He is leaning against the wall of the panic room and as soon as Dean enters the room, Sammy turns towards him. He still doesn’t look him in the eyes, but this is the most responsive and not scared that Sam has been in months. Also, apparently, his little brother has found his voice.
Just like usual, Dean keeps up a steady litany of information with his actions. “Here’s dinner, Sammy. Cas brought the vegetables all the way from Switzerland. He was the one in the brown coat from earlier.” He puts the bowl down on the floor and sets the plate with bread and cheese next to it. “Don’t worry Sammy, no angel is going to get near you again. Zachariah, man! What a piece of work! But we’ve made the house safe. The bald dickweed can’t get to you anymore.” He smiles and waves at his general surroundings. “100% angel-proof.”
When Sammy gets up and takes a step towards the food, Dean holds his breath. This is a first. Sammy must be starved. He’d like to see how far he could take this, but he knows a good thing when he sees it. He doesn’t want to ruin this, so he takes a step back and gestures towards the food. “Well, have at it Sammy. It’s real good soup. Bobby outdid himself on this one.”
“The bald man is an angel.” Sammy says, voice so low that Dean thinks for a moment that he’s imagining things. But his brother is still standing next to the cot and he isn’t moving in on the food. Sammy said something of his own accord, and he sounded surprised.
“Zach.” Dean says and his mouth is suddenly so dry that he starts croaking a little. “Zachariah, yes. He’s an angel. Not a very good one if you ask me, though.” Sammy stays silent, but he doesn’t move away. Dean tries his luck. “Didn’t you know he was an angel?”
Sammy shakes his head. “No.” Dean could burst into song. He’s having an actual conversation here. He doesn’t know where this comes from, but he’ll take it, no questions asked.
Sammy blinks at Dean’s shoulder and says, “Castiel is an angel, too.” Another statement; Dean could swear he hears a colon at the end of that sentence. It sounds like a question nonetheless.
“He is,” Dean says and beams at Sammy. Would you look at that. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you, Sammy. But don’t worry, kiddo. If Cas needs to talk to us, there’s plenty of room in the yard. No angel is getting in here ever again. You’re safe. I’ll make sure of it.”
Sam still doesn’t move but he starts to squirm a little. Dean is immediately reminded of little Sammy not daring to ask for a toy or some fancy food because money in the Winchester household was tight. His little brother shifts his weight from foot to foot and plays with the hem of his shirt. He glances to the floor, to the right, and to the floor again. Yup, Sammy is working up to something, all right.
“So,” the boy finally says, “you really are my brother.” Dean needs to sit down, right now, so he lets himself sink to the floor. He can’t believe this is happening.
“I am, Sammy,” he says, “Always was. Always will be. Never stopped.” He smiles a little. “Not for a single day.”
“You were gone so long.”
Geez, Sammy. Dean's heart aches with the feeling of loss and longing that echoes through the statement. How’s he doing this, Dean wonders. He's never heard anyone talk like this. Words aren’t made to carry this much meaning. He briefly wonders what to say to that, how to explain, and he decides to simply tell it like it is. He heard no accusation in Sammy’s tone, just a need for truth.
“It wasn’t me that was gone, Sammy. It was you. They took you from us, from me and Dad, when you were very small. You were only six.” He swallows. “That was nine years ago.” Now Sammy sits down too, but he still ignores the food. Instead, all his attention is focused on a spot on Dean’s chest.
“We looked everywhere for you. We all did - Dad and Bobby and Caleb and Jim, and everybody else we knew. We tried to find you, honest. But there was nothing, no trace to follow. We tried tracking spells and psychics end everything we could think of, but you were just gone. And then-” Dean swallows against the despair that creeps into his voice. “I guess I just got lost, Sammy. I kept looking, but no one was there to help me and- I just- I got lost along the way. I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry.”
Dean lowers his head and feels tears prickling at his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. His heart aches for the brother he lost and hurts even more for the one that is now sitting in front of him, gazing at his shirt.
“I guess I was lost, too,” Sammy says and Dean feels the heavy weight of both their hearts settle on his shoulders. He’s all too glad to carry it.
Sam is quiet for a moment, then he gives a small nod. “I’m glad you found me,” he says, and starts eating the cheese.
go back (part nine) || Masterpost || continue (part eleven)
Glinting In The Deeper Levels. [March 16th, 1999]
Dean.
The days of burnt toast and rare meat were officially over in the Singer-Winchester household. When they realized it would take some time to introduce Sammy to the world of culinary variety, Bobby began researching farmer’s markets and organic food as if he were gearing up for a hunt. “Kid only eats bread and friggin' apples,” he’d said, “so he’d better get the best there is.” Naturally, Dean was all for it. Bobby goes shopping twice a week, Saturdays to Garretson and Wednesdays all the way to Freeman. To the older hunter’s dismay and to Dean’s astonishment, they still haven’t covered all the vegetables, because "you can’t buy what’s not growing, idjit.”
Castiel becomes a regular visitor, although he mostly spends time with Bobby. The angel insists that meeting Sammy could throw off the precious balance they’ve established. No one wants that, obviously. And since Dean is with his brother basically 24/7, that’s that. But neither Bobby nor Cas seem to be bothered by the arrangement - the only difference to their previous routine worth mentioning is that Cas now acts as Bobby’s personal shopper, too. And since it doesn’t get any fresher than buying the world’s best leeks right from the farm in Switzerland, that’s what Cas is doing when the shit hits the fan.
Dean is sitting on his cot outside of the panic room, book in his lap and eyes closed. Sammy had had a bad night. There’s not much Dean can do about that. It’s not as if they could huddle up under the blankets and talk this through, like when they were small and Sammy loved to talk and being wrapped in Dean’s arms kept the nightmares at bay. No, things like that are out of the question. What he can do is tell his brother that he’s not alone. “Go to sleep, Sammy,” he’ll say, “everything’s alright. You’re safe here.”
Some nights, that works. Not last night, though, so they spent hours listening to each other’s breath and waiting for the darkness to pass. Now it’s early afternoon and Dean is tired. So he puts the book down and leans his head against the wall, just for a second.
“Dean Winchester,” someone says and Dean jerks awake. In front of him, right in the middle of Bobby’s fucking basement, stands the demon overlord. Suit, unsmiling smile, and all. Dean scrambles to his feet in an initial moment of panic. A sawed-off and his gun are under his cot and a knife lies under his pillow but neither will help against a demon.
“Bobby,” he shouts, thoughts frantic, and then he remembers that Sammy is in the panic room. Nothing, not demon, angel, spook or whatever, can get in there. He takes a breath, slaps on his most condescending smile, and says, “Hello there.”
“Hello,” the demon says. My, how civil we are.
“Hello,” Bobby adds, from behind the thing, “And who would you be?”
The demon doesn’t turn around and a smile spreads on his face. “Bobby Singer.” It’s expression twitches with megalomaniacal glee. “It’s nice to meet you. My name is Zachariah.”
Dean looks at the thing and hopes it’ll bleed pretty. “Zachariah.” He nods. “Zach.” Dead, dead Zach. This son of a bitch is going to burn for what he did to Sammy.
“Yes,” the demon says and behind him Bobby throws the first bottle of holy water at it. Zachariah’s smile widens and he snatches the bottle out of the air without turning away from Dean.
“Now, enough with the pleasantries,” it says, “I have come for the boy.”
Dean stares at him, unbelieving. He sure hopes Bobby has some other tricks up his sleeve. Cas, for example. “Yeah. That’s not gonna happen,” he says.
“Oh, I beg to differ.” The thing tilts its head to the side and for a moment Dean is sickeningly reminded of Cas. Behind him, Bobby starts reading something from a book, but he must be whispering. Dean only sees his mouth move. The demon smiles again.
“Now, Bobby. I can finish that exorcism for you if you’d like.” Bobby stops midsentence and stares at Dean. “Potestas, omnis incursion infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, et ecta diabolica. Ergo blah blah blah. Honestly. Enough already.”
“But,” Bobby says.
“Not a demon,” the thing singsongs as if that were the best news in the world. Which it very well might be because that would make it much easier to kill. Bobby is apparently thinking the same thing, so when Dean grabs his knife and goes for Zachariah’s jugular, Bobby swings his machete at his neck. Both their weapons vanish with a pop. No way, Dean thinks.
“Now, I have been patient because I like you, Dean. We expect great things from you. But I can’t say I’m a fan of the hostility.”
“What the hell are you?” Don’t say it, he thinks.
“I told you, my name is Zachariah.” It smiles its best cruel smile. “I am an angel of the Lord.”
“No you’re not,” Dean says, but now that he looks at him, he knows it’s true.
“Well,” Zachariah says, “Not that this wasn’t fun and all, but like I said. I’m here for the boy. You clearly see that he’s no good for pretty much anything. So I’m taking him back.” The angel’s voice turns sleazy; digs into his skin. Dean craves a shower just listening to it.
“You of all things? You're taking him back? You broke him!” Dean glares at Zach. “He doesn’t even remember me, and I‘m his brother, you fugly son of a bitch. You aren’t getting him. You want him, you’ll have to go through me first.” He walks to the open door of the panic room and folds his arms in front of his chest. He’s unarmed, but they don’t know how to kill angels, anyway. He can only hope to stall this bastard long enough for Cas to pop back in.
“Being his brother means nothing. You have no claim over him. He is nothing but a tool, and a dark one at that. He will be used as the Lord commands. He will do what is asked of him.” The angel’s gaze flits from Dean to a point to his left. “And when the time comes he might even be able to save his soul in doing so. Isn’t that right, boy?” Dean prays that the kid has enough common sense to stay in the panic room.
“It’s time for us to go,” the angel says and Sammy walks up next to Dean, silent as a ghost. This is so not happening. Also, what did that bastard just say?
“Is that what you’ve been feeding him? That he's some tool and that you’ll use him for- for god’s work? You’re crazy!” Zachariah ignores him and steps closer. “Get the hell away from him! I’ll kill you, you hear? You're dead for what you did to him. He was six! Six! And you, what, you take him and torture him for some fucked up angel scheme?”
“That’s enough,” the angel says and raises his hand - Bobby shoots him in the back, twice. Zachariah doesn’t twitch, but he looks pissed now. He barely jerks his head and Bobby goes flying into the back wall. He crashes into an old shelf and goes down, hard. He doesn’t get back up. Zachariah looks from Sammy to Dean, and Dean knows he’s about to lose the kid.
“No!” he says and spreads an arm in front of his brother’s chest. Both to keep Sammy from walking any further into this mad angel’s reach and to keep the attention on himself. “You’re not getting him. You’ll have to kill me first.” He means it too, although he seriously wishes Cas would hurry the fuck up. How long does it take to zap to Switzerland and back again, anyway?
“Now, I don’t think that will be necessary,” the angel says and Dean’s arm falls to his side. He stares at Zachariah and tries to turn to Sammy, but he can’t fucking move. Bobby’s still down. The angel takes a step back, nods at Dean with a satisfied expression, and turns to Sammy.
“Come here, boy.”
No, Dean wants to scream, don’t you do it, Sammy! Don’t! He can’t even twitch his finger. He starts to sweat. Sammy steps in front of him and keeps his head lowered.
“You made quite a mess of things.”
Sammy fucking nods. He hasn’t done anything, can’t even decide what to wear most days, and now that fucking bastard is gonna lay this on him? Dean feels like his head might explode. Then Zachariah smiles, ugly and knowing and full of menace. He smiles at Dean and Sammy doesn’t see it because he won’t even look at this monster. But Dean does, and in that second he sees the truth in the bastard’s eyes. The angel enjoys this. He gets a kick from seeing Sammy suffer. He screams at the thing, in his mind, and he doesn’t even spend time on words. It’s primal, pure rage; a sound that echoes through every corner of his being. He is fury. If he could move, he would tear the angel apart with his bare hands. The bastard knows Sammy didn’t do a thing! Dean is looking right through him and then Zachariah’s smile widens. He knows that Dean knows.
“What were you thinking?” Zachariah asks. But Dean can tell that this isn’t just about Sammy. This is for him, too. The angel is putting on a sick, twisted show for him and Sammy’s gonna suffer for it. He starts sweating for real. If he could only reach his gun- he wouldn’t be able to kill Zachariah, but at least he’d get the satisfaction of emptying his clip into that slimy little bastard. He can’t even blink, though, much less grab the gun. A second later, Sammy goes down. He folds over in the middle, wraps his hands around his stomach, and falls forward. He doesn’t gasp or scream or try to protect his fall. His eyes are screwed shut and his mouth is open, but Dean isn’t sure he’s breathing. Oh god. Is he breathing? He starts screaming in his head again, only this time he's screaming Sammy over and over again. Zachariah chuckles and Sammy whimpers. Thank god. He’s alive.
Castiel.
Castiel supposes this go unheeded by Zachariah because Zachariah isn’t as attuned to the Winchesters as Castiel is. He ascertains the limits of the other angel’s presence and makes sure that Zachariah isn’t deep enough for this; that he is blind to it. But Castiel knew what to look for. When he’d felt Sam’s shield break under Zachariah’s attack, Castiel delved right in, guided by the recoiling energy and Dean’s screams of rage and despair. His senses tingle with the preliminary stages of a resouled emotional bond in the making. Any second now, it should happen. The offset of energetic balance will right itself - or so he hopes. It’s not as if this were a common occurrence, not even in angelic perception of time. It is a thing of ancient stories and rumors at best. No one he knows has actually seen it; there aren’t as many soul mates as is universally believed.
Castiel stands next to Zachariah, unseen to humans and angel alike, and he watches the knitting of the planes. Things connect that can’t be held together; eventualities arise out of nothing but shadow. Here, in this moment, things are possible. It’s like watching a flower open up to the sun. It can’t be prevented because it is meant to be. It is small until it makes all the difference in the world. Only, this is beautiful and disastrous and pure. It is infinite.
Castiel is alone here. Zachariah is too close to the surface; he’s eons away. The brothers are here, of course, but then again not. Their very core of existence is, though, their innermost glowings. Castiel is close enough to touch them, but he doesn’t dare.
He feels sorry for them. They won’t be able to remember this, if they’re aware of it at all - they’re deep enough for the edges to fray. Even angels don’t go this far all that often, there's rarely a need for such intrusion. No, he thinks, this will remain unnoticed by the brothers. But Castiel is here, he will witness, and he will carry this with him forever and remember it for them.
Soft little tendrils of fear and love and despair and pain writhe away from Sam and Dean, and Castiel lets go of his grace. The aching loss of the Winchester brothers sounds through it like a bell struck. The vibrations reach further than Castiel has ever been. Where Dean and Sam blindly reach out for comfort, reality ripples; tendrils coil and reshape and keep extending. Finally, the first connection is made and the brothers’ cores start to shine; all of the lower levels go silent. Whatever has enough awareness to exist here either holds its breath or weeps. Castiel does both.
With each following unification, he can feel golden sparks of creation ruffle through his wings - being multidimensional does have its perks. He stretches himself a little further; he needs to go deeper still. He coils his wings around the humans, unperceived by all but maybe the Lord; he encircles them whole and the grandness of their ruin nearly breaks him. It’s not like being caught in a storm - he is the storm, or maybe the brothers are the storm and Castiel simply holds them together. He can’t quite tell; has never experienced anything like it, but he knows he is privileged to be a part of this. It’s an aureate thing to witness, literally. His grace sings with all their longing, all their agony and sorrow and their jubilating souls. Where the golden sparks singe him, white hot love seeps through. He wishes he could stay here, but he knows that Zachariah is wrong to pursue this. He needs to stop it, and for that, Castiel has to leave.
Zachariah raises his eyebrows when the boy on the ground stops moving. Castiel steps up into his sight and says, “He is all about protection.” Zachariah follows that thought and looks at Dean, who is similarly frozen in the time pocket they just entered.
He focuses back on the other angel. “Castiel. I thought we agreed on refraining from this kind of communication. The risk that they notice is to great.”
The admonishment brushes Castiel, but he stays unmoving. “I have observed these humans for many months, both seen and unseen. They will not detect this. In their perception, this is not happening.” Also, they are a little busy right now. He thinks of golden sparks and smiles.
“If you say so. Although I wonder why I should trust you with anything anymore. It was your poor choice of action that led us here. You couldn’t even keep two otherwise incapable humans from getting to the boy.” The anger lashes out and strikes him, but once more Castiel doesn’t move. He can’t afford to lose this.
“I am truly sorry about that. I know my failure is inexcusable. But there might be a way to get them back on track.”
“I have told you before, Castiel, that going back in time again is neither wise nor possible. Reality is already stretched; the veils are fading. Even time pockets as small as this one are dangerous. This must be the last of them for the foreseeable future.” Zachariah tilts his head. “How come you are powerful enough to create a pocket, anyway?”
“I don’t know. The sigil must not have cost me as much as we estimated.”
“Very well. No more pockets, though. It’s too risky.”
“Of course. You are right. But still this could work in our favor. Dean is all about protection.” Castiel keeps up a steady stream of inspiration and hopes for the best, accidentally.
In the end it’s those flitters of hope that swerve Zachariah, and he inclines his head ever so slightly. “So you said.”
“So let us give him something that Sam needs protection from.” Castiel holds his breath and feels nothing, so he forges on. “They have grown used to me, and already distrust you, so we can use that to our advantage. If you were to threaten the boy’s life but were unable to follow through, it might give Dean the incentive to keep working with me. Let him protect his brother and I will continue to watch them both. It’s worth a try. The situation may escalate if we attempt to keep them apart any longer. Let’s not waste all the progress we made in this matter.”
Zachariah looks from Sam to Dean, then back to Castiel. “Have you forgotten the initial timeline? How dangerous they were together, how sickeningly intertwined? How they thwarted all our efforts, revolted against the glorious plan of the Lord any chance they got?
“No. Of course not. I understand that they were dangerous in their selfishness. But we accomplished what you wished for, did we not? They know nothing of that, and Samuel Winchester is aware of his tainted blood. He will try to redeem himself and do what you say.” Castiel offers humble pride and adoration. “Or was there anything else you wished for?”
Zachariah sighs. “What I wish for is to stop this little charade. The Winchesters turn out to be the bane of my existence. Again!”
“But we still might need them," Castiel insists. "Both of them. John Winchester stays hidden, so I assume nothing has changed from my initial assignment. This is the last of the Winchester bloodline.” Castiel can see the suspicion take hold of Zachariah once again.
“You don’t have to tell me, Castiel. I know what is at stake. But your orders were simple: to make sure the bloodline survives to fulfill its role. You were not supposed to bond with them or to hunt with them, or to heal their acquaintances or any of that. If I didn’t know better, I would say you have grown fond of these humans.”
“Trust is difficult to come by in their world. I figured it best to offer them my help. It will make things easier in the long run. Dean Winchester was not eager to help with our cause when we offered it to him the first time. This way, when the time comes, he might trust my judgment.”
“Yes, yes, very well.” Zachariah hesitates and once more narrows his eyes at Castiel. “How did you gain their trust, anyway?”
“I let them believe they saved my life.”
“That is ridiculous. Even these two can’t be vain enough to believe that.”
“It has been a long time since humans have been familiar with us. I doubt that they acted out of arrogance. It is much more likely that they have no grasp on the kind of power we possess.” Castiel thinks back to Florence, Wisconsin and holds back the fondness at these memories. “It was quite impressive, though. Ensouled nature, rising soil and exploding trees; self-consuming fire and sparks rising to the sky. Much like the old days.”
“Ah.” Zachariah smiles. “I see. Genesis 19:24, good times.” Then he tilts his head at Castiel. “You should show them how powerful you are. This Dean Winchester is different from the previous one. Maybe he will be easier to control when he is intimidated.” Castiel doubts that displaying his power by setting Wisconsin ablaze would have helped him to win Dean’s and Bobby’s trust. He cannot lose their confidence, because for Dean to survive Castiel needs to find John Winchester. And to do that, he needs their help. They have to trust him.
“He might be different here,” Castiel says, “But he’s still a hunter. This is the only way it will work.”
Zachariah nods. “Very well. We will try what you proposed.” He levels one last glance at the other angel. “I still think it strange that you would spend so much time around them, though.”
“I do your bidding, Zachariah. I am here to protect them.”
Dean.
He can blink and twitch his fingers. The angel must have tired himself out. Torturing Sammy, he thinks bitterly, but right now he’ll take what he can get. He needs to move. Sweat continues to pour from him, but little by little, he feels control return to his limbs. He shifts his weight and smiles inwardly. Any minute now, no matter whether Cas is here or not, he will rip the smile from the angel bastard’s face. He’ll claw it off if necessary.
Dean glances down to his brother who is still whimpering in agony. Dean would give anything to swap places. Zachariah looks up from Sammy, and this time he doesn’t smile.
“I will take the boy now. It’s for his own good. We protected him this far and we intend to keep doing so.”
Finally, Dean can move. His body aches with the strain, but he doesn’t care. He can’t let that angel dick take Sammy. “You protected him from what? Demons? Lilith?” he spits through his teeth.
Zachariah’s gaze becomes icy. “And what would you know about Lilith?”
“Oh, just that she likes to snag children and-”
The angel shakes his head but he looks oddly relieved. “Oh, I know that story. But see, Lilith is so much more than what the lore makes her out to be. You should be thankful that we kept the boy out of her reach. We know that she has tried to find and kill him before.”
Dean has no chance to poke Zachariah for additional information because in that moment, Cas appears in the basement with a rustle of feathers. Dean is so happy to see him that he silently vows not to make fun of the way the angel clutches the basket of organic vegetables to his trench coat-clad chest. Cas takes in his surroundings and says, “I’m sorry I'm late,” as if this were a freaking dinner party. He zaps over to Bobby and does his finger-mojo thing and finally, Bobby is back amongst the living. He sits up slowly and leans against the wall, not all there yet as it seems. Then, Cas zaps right next to Dean and faces Zachariah. Dean feels giddy with relief.
“Castiel.” Zachariah says.
“Zachariah.” Castiel nods. “What are you doing here?”
“Wait a minute,” Dean says, “you two know each other?”
Castiel tilts his head in that irritating angelic way. “All of the heavenly hosts know each other.” Not an inkling of guilt or apology in his voice.
“But- Cas! I asked you about the demon overlord and you said you didn’t know who he was.” Castiel looks honestly confused.
“That is true,” he says.
Dean throws his hands in the air and points at Zachariah. “He is the demon overlord.”
Castiel shakes his head. “No he is not. Zachariah is an angel of the Lord.” Dean refrains from throttling Castiel, barely.
“Yeah. Thanks for the update, Cas.”
“Well,” Zachariah interjects, “As much as this little cabaret entertains me, I have things to do.”
“What, you wanna add another six year old to your collection?” Zachariah is not amused. Sam, who hasn’t moved from where he fell on the floor earlier, starts whimpering again.
“Son of a bitch- leave him alone already! What did he ever do to you? Pick on someone your own size, for once.” With that, Dean gives Castiel a little shove. In the background, Bobby tries to get to his feet and ends up on all fours, amidst the contents of the shelf he’d knocked over. Maybe the finger mojo needs a little fine-tuning, Dean thinks.
“This has taken long enough,” Zachariah says. “I am here for the boy. He will come with me.”
“The boy stays,” Castiel says. “This is where he belongs. We will protect him.”
Dean nods. “Damn straight we will.”
“This is not debatable,” the taller angel looks at Dean and the cruel, torturous smile is back. “You cannot ensure his safety. The boy comes with me or I end him.”
“You- what?” Dean sputters and seriously hopes he misheard.
“And what good would that do?” Castiel asks.
Zachariah shrugs. “It would ensure that he can’t be corrupted. So, will you hand him over?”
“No!” Dean says. On the floor, Sammy starts coughing blood. “Stop hurting him! He’s suffered enough. Stop it, goddamnit, stop it!” Sam jerks erratically against the floor. “Sammy?” His brother is wheezing and doesn’t open his eyes. “Cas, do something!”
Zachariah looks at Dean with cold appraisal. “He might be drowning in his own blood right now but he’s had worse. Don’t worry, he’ll bounce back. Quite the resilient little abomin-”
“Zachariah,” Castiel says, “that is enough.”
“Fuck you,” Dean shouts in Zach’s direction and smacks Castiel’s shoulder. “Cas, I swear to god, you better-“ Sammy stops coughing and wheezing, which can’t be good. Dean falls to his knees to see what he can do to help, but there’s nothing. Sammy can’t breathe properly, and Dean crouches next to him and checks for his brother’s pulse; it’s fast and trembling. A small trickle of red seeps from the corner of his mouth into the dusty floor.
“Nonono. Don’t do this to me, Sammy. Fight this.” Sam doesn’t even twitch. “Sam, can you hear me? Don’t do this, you can’t just give up. You have to fight!” Sammy’s lips are turning blue. “Sam!”
“Stop this,” Castiel says, calm as anything.
That’s it, Dean thinks. He’s had it with this crazy angel; madness is nothing but infectious. He stretches from where he kneels on the ground and fishes his gun out from under the cot. “Stop it, right now, or so help me.” His gun points right at that sick little smile.
“You wouldn’t dare,” Zachariah says.
“Try me.”
“Stop it now, Zachariah, this is enough!” At least Cas gets with the program now and sounds appropriately pissed. Sammy’s movements slow and more blood drips onto the basement floor. In the background, Bobby is frantically moving over some bed linen on the floor. Maybe they've all got some of Zachariah’s crazy on them, now. Dean pulls the trigger.
Castiel is everywhere at once. He slaps away Dean’s hand so the bullet goes wild. He is right up in the other angel’s face when Zach starts his holier-than-thou-wrath thing; wings and thunder and all. Cas waves at the pile of Sammy on the ground and his brother goes flying through the air, right into the panic room, and its door clangs shut behind him. Sammy goes limp midflight; it’s the last thing Dean sees of him.
Dean stares at Castiel for a moment before he throws himself at the panic room door. “What the hell did you do?”
“Did you not want me to stop his suffering?” The angel sounds utterly surprised. “I assure you he is not feeling pain anymore.”
Oh no, no no no, please. Please let him be alive. “Is he- is he alive?”
Cas throws him a look of utter indignity. “Of course he is.”
“Well, good. “ Dean steps away from where he tried to claw through several inches of metal. He adjusts his shirt and clears his throat. “He better be.”
Zachariah is seething. “That room will not keep him safe forever. I will get the boy.”
“Over my dead body.” Dean means it.
“That can be arranged.”
Castiel’s head snaps up. Both angels tilt their head and settle their piercing glare on to the other. It’s like an angelic freakshow version of who blinks first.
“You wouldn’t dare harm him,” Cas says.
“Why? It might do him good to get some common sense smacked into him. He just tried to shoot me.”
“No.” If anyone were to ever express his horror at blasphemy in one word, that would’ve been it; Castiel’s the man.
“Ah, Castiel. Always such a spoilsport. I wouldn’t kill him, of course. Just remind him of the natural order of things. And of his place in it.”
“No,” Castiel repeats. In the background Bobby finally gets to his feet. He clutches the sheet he'd been bent over to his chest as he slowly walks towards them. He stares at Zachariah and his face is grim. Then he glances over to Dean, and the smile that spreads on Bobby's face is scary as fuck. Dean hopes that angel-madness in humans can be reversed. This isn’t a good look on Bobby. The older hunter clears his throat.
“Sorry to break this up, but you two are getting on my nerves. You especially, you sanctimonious bastard.” Bobby nods at Zachariah. Dean hopes the man doesn’t do anything stupid. Well, no more than usual. “Unfortunately for you, we humans aren’t quite as thick as you’d like us to be.” He uncrosses his arms and in one fluid motion the sheet follows suit. It unfolds and turns its back to the front in the process. Bobby bites into the sheet where he’s holding it up with his right hand, and slaps his freed bloody palm onto the crude red marks. A familiar thunder rolls through the air and sharp whiteness devours everything. Angel sigil, Dean thinks, and he’s never been so glad to have Bobby at his side.
Dean feels bad to even think it, but it turns out he's kind of happy about Zach storming in and torturing Sammy. Because somewhere along the way, Sammy accepted the fact that he indeed has a brother, and that Dean is the real deal.
After the angels were gone, Dean had finally crashed his way into the panic room to check on his little brother - who still had blood on his face, but was breathing deeply and evenly and sleeping behind the cot. Bobby and he spent the rest of the day angel-proofing the shit out of the place. No way in hell was that angel dick getting near Sammy ever again.
In the evening, they bring Sammy some fresh vegetable soup and a little bread and cheese. Dean is happy to see the kid upright and mercifully blood-free. He is leaning against the wall of the panic room and as soon as Dean enters the room, Sammy turns towards him. He still doesn’t look him in the eyes, but this is the most responsive and not scared that Sam has been in months. Also, apparently, his little brother has found his voice.
Just like usual, Dean keeps up a steady litany of information with his actions. “Here’s dinner, Sammy. Cas brought the vegetables all the way from Switzerland. He was the one in the brown coat from earlier.” He puts the bowl down on the floor and sets the plate with bread and cheese next to it. “Don’t worry Sammy, no angel is going to get near you again. Zachariah, man! What a piece of work! But we’ve made the house safe. The bald dickweed can’t get to you anymore.” He smiles and waves at his general surroundings. “100% angel-proof.”
When Sammy gets up and takes a step towards the food, Dean holds his breath. This is a first. Sammy must be starved. He’d like to see how far he could take this, but he knows a good thing when he sees it. He doesn’t want to ruin this, so he takes a step back and gestures towards the food. “Well, have at it Sammy. It’s real good soup. Bobby outdid himself on this one.”
“The bald man is an angel.” Sammy says, voice so low that Dean thinks for a moment that he’s imagining things. But his brother is still standing next to the cot and he isn’t moving in on the food. Sammy said something of his own accord, and he sounded surprised.
“Zach.” Dean says and his mouth is suddenly so dry that he starts croaking a little. “Zachariah, yes. He’s an angel. Not a very good one if you ask me, though.” Sammy stays silent, but he doesn’t move away. Dean tries his luck. “Didn’t you know he was an angel?”
Sammy shakes his head. “No.” Dean could burst into song. He’s having an actual conversation here. He doesn’t know where this comes from, but he’ll take it, no questions asked.
Sammy blinks at Dean’s shoulder and says, “Castiel is an angel, too.” Another statement; Dean could swear he hears a colon at the end of that sentence. It sounds like a question nonetheless.
“He is,” Dean says and beams at Sammy. Would you look at that. “You’re a smart one, aren’t you, Sammy. But don’t worry, kiddo. If Cas needs to talk to us, there’s plenty of room in the yard. No angel is getting in here ever again. You’re safe. I’ll make sure of it.”
Sam still doesn’t move but he starts to squirm a little. Dean is immediately reminded of little Sammy not daring to ask for a toy or some fancy food because money in the Winchester household was tight. His little brother shifts his weight from foot to foot and plays with the hem of his shirt. He glances to the floor, to the right, and to the floor again. Yup, Sammy is working up to something, all right.
“So,” the boy finally says, “you really are my brother.” Dean needs to sit down, right now, so he lets himself sink to the floor. He can’t believe this is happening.
“I am, Sammy,” he says, “Always was. Always will be. Never stopped.” He smiles a little. “Not for a single day.”
“You were gone so long.”
Geez, Sammy. Dean's heart aches with the feeling of loss and longing that echoes through the statement. How’s he doing this, Dean wonders. He's never heard anyone talk like this. Words aren’t made to carry this much meaning. He briefly wonders what to say to that, how to explain, and he decides to simply tell it like it is. He heard no accusation in Sammy’s tone, just a need for truth.
“It wasn’t me that was gone, Sammy. It was you. They took you from us, from me and Dad, when you were very small. You were only six.” He swallows. “That was nine years ago.” Now Sammy sits down too, but he still ignores the food. Instead, all his attention is focused on a spot on Dean’s chest.
“We looked everywhere for you. We all did - Dad and Bobby and Caleb and Jim, and everybody else we knew. We tried to find you, honest. But there was nothing, no trace to follow. We tried tracking spells and psychics end everything we could think of, but you were just gone. And then-” Dean swallows against the despair that creeps into his voice. “I guess I just got lost, Sammy. I kept looking, but no one was there to help me and- I just- I got lost along the way. I’m sorry, Sammy. I’m so sorry.”
Dean lowers his head and feels tears prickling at his eyes and rolling down his cheeks. His heart aches for the brother he lost and hurts even more for the one that is now sitting in front of him, gazing at his shirt.
“I guess I was lost, too,” Sammy says and Dean feels the heavy weight of both their hearts settle on his shoulders. He’s all too glad to carry it.
Sam is quiet for a moment, then he gives a small nod. “I’m glad you found me,” he says, and starts eating the cheese.
go back (part nine) || Masterpost || continue (part eleven)