[Fic] DCBB - Round Came the Magpie - Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
January 17th, 2006
Dean opened his eyes and he knew there was something not quite right. He was in a space that seemed to be an absence of space, just nothing but white and vastness all around him. He was also in a thin t-shirt and pyjama pants but felt no chill on his skin. For a moment, Dean thought with a hopeful lurch that Castiel was dream-walking on him, but the aura of this place didn’t feel like Cas and if it had been Cas they’d certainly be someplace a lot more comfortable than this. Castiel would know as well as Dean that there would be no way he was escaping from a dream-walk after so long without a little dream-fucking.
The hopeful lurch was quickly replaced with a sick dread and Dean looked around for an exit.
“You aren’t going to find one,” a deep voice rumbled out of the mist and a
powerfully-built man’s silhouette followed shortly after.
Gradually, the silhouette took shape and Dean couldn’t shake how familiar the man across from him looked. It took him a moment to realize that he had seen this man before in a photograph, wearing a leather jacket and straddling an old Indian Chief motorcycle from the ‘50s as he grinned into the camera. God it was his dad. No, wait, it wasn’t, his eyes were wrong - cold hazel shards.
“You aren’t my dad,” Dean said, agitated.
“No,” the not-Dad smiled darkly and little amused. “I’m not.”
“You’re an angel?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Who?”
The being wearing Dean’s father’s face tutted and strode closer, that same darkly amused smile curling his lips. He stopped mere inches in front of Dean’s face and twisted and tilted it around, eyes gazing hard into Dean as if he were searching for something.
“Who?” Dean gritted, wrenching his face out of the mysterious angel’s grip.
“I think this meeting is long, long overdue, don’t you Dean?”
“Sure, but you know what’s great at meetings? Names.”
“Think really hard, it’ll come to you,” the angel patronized.
“Why are you wearing my dad?” Dean demanded, not willing to play Rumpelstiltskin with this creep.
“He’s the last one who said yes, years ago, but that’s not important now. Do you know how vessels work, Dean?”
Dean didn’t reply. Castiel hadn’t really told him much about it.
The angel shrugged. “Not important. Anyway, I’m not here to discuss that right now. I’m just here to make sure you’re all right.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah. Right. That’s swell. And really, I believe you so much right now. I’m touched.”
“No, really, Dean. I just want to reassure myself that you’re adjusting. It must be difficult. I know it’s been some time now, but it is so hard to tell how quickly these things set in. Also, I’m assuming Castiel only came clean about the entire sticky situation recently. He does have a tendency to be… shall we say… reticent?” The angel smirked and it wasn’t pleasant.
“What are you talking about?” Dean asked suspiciously, backing up from the angel.
“Well you know, this is round two of this little event. I wanted to give it another shot. I felt you had an unfair advantage the last time. So I went back and… altered a few things. Including, much to my chagrin, Castiel’s relationship to you. I really had no idea he would be so willing to rebel again and so quickly. You be sure to tell him that when I find him he’s going to be punished for his transgressions and I won’t be lenient about it.
“Anyway, clearly you’ve forgiven him for manipulating you into this romance. I suppose it could be some strange Stockholm phenomenon. Perhaps it was only natural that you fell together in such a way. Though it is strange, at the end last time, you were just barely friends and now he has you tamed. Devoted. Practically virginal. He reined in Dean Winchester - the sower of wild oats. Remarkable. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I’m glad to see you’re adjusting so well.”
Dean woke-up.
Dean was shaken and he didn’t understand what the angel interloper had been spewing in his head. Round two? Reined in? Manipulated? None of it made a lick of sense and Dean was halfway to chalking it up to a crazy alcohol-induced dream and actually very nearly convinced of it. That, however, didn’t stop the tiny, niggling little seed of doubt that had been planted in his mind. Did angels lie? Or were they the often more painful half-truths type? Dean was shocked that he had no idea.
He fumbled at the bedside table, trying not to disturb Sam in the motel bed across from his. Dean found the mickey of whiskey he had stuck there last night and swigged a good mouthful. It burned going down so he chased it with another. The warmth settling gradually in his gut made his eyes droop again and as he fell back to sleep, forgetting - for the time being - that weird-ass dream.
xx
January 17th, 2006 - Later
The rawhead had been brutal and it didn’t look good for Dean at all. Sam was halfway to panic when nearly two hours had gone by without so much as a peep from the doctor. All the interaction he received was from the pretty but grating nurse asking him about lapsed healthcare coverage and the police officers asking him question after question about just what exactly had happened in the damn house. How could Sam have been so stupid as to leave his brother alone like that? What had he been thinking? Sure, it had been important to get the kids out - there was no way he was disputing that - but at the same time, he’d just walked away without a backward glance and he hadn’t dragged Dean’s stupid ass with him.
Sam finally let himself relax a little when he saw the doctor approach; his intent was clearly sharing Dean’s condition. Tension eased prematurely only to double when the doctor told Sam just how serious Dean’s condition actually was. What was worse was Dean’s typical ‘devil-may-care’ attitude towards the entire thing. Sam wanted to do something about it so, so badly but his hands were tied.
Dean’s heart was damaged; he only had weeks to live - weeks. At least that’s what the chances would be for most people, but the Winchesters weren’t most people and they had other avenues to explore. Dean had put up a fight over the issue but Sam wasn’t about to take this one lying down. He stayed until visiting hours were over, not even risking a few minutes to make two short phone calls while his brother was still in reach. Back at the motel however, Sam got to work.
Sam knew the first thing he had to do without a doubt and sat at the foot of the motel bed, hands clasped, arms rested on his knees, head bowed. He cleared his throat, “Ah… Cas? Castiel. Look, it’s Sam, and I don’t really know if I’m saying this right, but I pray to God that you can hear me. I don’t normally direct one of these things to someone in particular, but I’ve seen Dean do it a few times. Look, Dean’s hurt and it’s pretty bad. I know you’re busy rescuing your brother but Dean… They say Dean is going to die. I’m not going to let that happen, though; they don’t know the things we do. So if you can get down here, it would probably be a really good idea. But I swear, Cas… Castiel. I won’t let him die. Um… Amen?”
Sam was sure he’d never felt more awkward in his life. The next call he made was more traditional. He left a few of his contacts a message and then started a search on the computer, then dialled a number that was now more familiar to him than his own apartment’s since he had dialled it so many times with the same result: no answer on the other side. Sam knew his dad wasn’t too keen to hear from him, but he needed to know about Dean, without a doubt.
Sam left a shaky voicemail, hating the fact that his eyes were burning with threatened tears and his throat felt thick and tight. “Hey, Dad. It's Sam. Uh...you probably won't even get this, but, uh...it's Dean. He's sick, and uh...the doctors say there's nothing they can do. Um...but, uh, they don't know the things we know, right? So, don't worry, cause I'm, uh...gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright...just wanted you to know.”
That was that, now Sam just had to play the waiting game, but sitting idle was never something Sam excelled at. He only had two return calls, and though one seemed like a probable solution, he had hoped for a little more choice. Now the room had been quiet again for nearly thirty minutes. It was almost a relief when he heard a sharp rap on the door. Thinking it was a maid, he welcomed the small distraction that telling her that her services wouldn’t be required presented. It wasn’t the maid.
“Jesus Christ, Dean, what the fuck are you doing here?” Sam helped Dean across the threshold and then to one of the chairs in the motel room. The firmer base of it would offer more support to Dean’s damaged body. Dean sank into it gratefully, panting slightly with the strain it took to get here.
“Not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot,” Dean grumbled.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like you spare anyone a second glance.”
“Nah, but sometimes they get a first. Allowed to look, Sammy, just not touch,” Dean grinned but it was clearly forced.
“You know, Dean? This whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death thing is clearly crap, I can see right through it.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Dean dismissed. “Dude, have you even slept? You look worse than me.”
“I’ve been scouring the internet and calling every contact in Dad’s journal.”
“For what?”
“A way to help you. I mean, I gave Cas a shout too, but I don’t know if I did it right. Haven’t heard from him yet and he was the first call I made.”
“You what?” Dean demanded angrily.
“Called Cas. Jesus, Dean, he’s the first person who should have been made aware. You mean in the last few days it hasn’t crossed your mind once to tell your husband that you’re fucking dying?” Sam was angry himself at that little inference.
“He’s busy, Sam, he’s rescuing his brother. I’m not about to pull him away from that.”
“You’re dying.”
“So you’ve said. I ain’t worried.”
“Well whatever, one of Dad’s friends, Joshua, gave me a call back. He told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”
“You aren’t going to let me die in peace, are you?” Dean huffed.
“I’m not going to let you die, period,” Sam vowed.
xx
After Sam had ordered Dean to bed and buried him under about a half-ton of blankets, he went out to get some additional supplies for the trip. Nebraska was a few hours away and they would need to be prepared. Dean had been drifting in and out of sleep in his little brother’s absence but his eyes flew open when he felt a tingle like a kiss ghost over his skin.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean grinned. “Guess Sam didn’t have to worry after all, huh?”
Castiel smiled. “Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s face sobered when he said, “I must admit, I’m a little pissed off at you. After I went to Sam to find out where you were, he told me you wanted to keep this a secret from me.”
Dean face fell a little as he grimaced, pushing himself up. “Cas, that’s not really… I didn’t want to pull you away from your battle. Balthazar is your favourite and closest brother; I don’t want to come between that.”
Castiel came over to the bed; he was trying to make his gait firm and resolved but Dean noticed there was something off in his step. Dean furrowed his brow at the barely-discernible wince as Castiel began lowering himself to the edge of the bed next to Dean.
Despite the now perpetual strain on his body, Dean managed to gather enough strength to spring forward and force the baggy folds of Castiel’s trench-coat aside. “What the fuck, Cas?” There was a gaping, angry wound, bleeding not only the red of humanity but also glimmering a blazing blue-white from the deepest recesses.
“Oh, God,” Dean felt sick, his hand reaching out impotently, knowing staunching the flow would be useless against leaking grace. A wound like this could only be caused by one thing - an angel armed with their sword.
Castiel grasped Dean’s hands in his own and tucked the coat back over to conceal the wound. “I’ll be fine.”
“That isn’t fine, Cas!” Dean eyes flashed.
“Dean-”
“I can’t believe you even flew here hurt like that, what were you thinking? Jesus, Cas, you almost died!”
“Dean, you are fucking dying!” Castiel roared back. “To even insinuate that I would for one moment think my injury was more vital than your own is absurd! I’ll heal, you have weeks to live. I’m not going to leave you like that! I see how damaged your heart is, Dean Winchester, I can feel life running out of you! It makes me sick inside; I felt it the moment you were injured but my brothers kept me confined and I couldn’t come. I wanted to be here with every fragment of my being. I was terrified.”
“Cas-”
“No, stop it. For one moment, think of yourself for a change, Dean. You sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice and it never even crosses your mind that there are people who love you just as surely, just as fiercely as you love them. If something happened, if you died and I wasn’t with you? I couldn’t bear it. The moment you’re gone from this Earth, I’m following you.”
“Cas-”
“How many wa-”
“Castiel!”
Cas snapped his mouth shut.
“Now you listen to me,” Dean gritted out, his face pale. “This is me thinking of myself. I need you to go.”
“What?” Castiel gaped.
“I need you to go. You’ll heal faster with your brothers right? Up in the heavenly angel hospital or wherever they had you holed up?”
“I…”
“Cas?”
“Yes,” Castiel forced out.
“Good, because listen up. If you want me to live out the weeks until you’re well enough to heal me again, I need you gone. Don’t even try to tell me you can heal me now because the moment I see grace, I know you’re little more than a baby in a trench-coat.”
Castiel pouted after that proclamation.
Dean chased the insult with a gentle smile and a squeeze of Castiel’s hands. “Look, you want me better, you gotta get better. I won’t be okay if I’m stuck worrying about you the entire time. At least upstairs I know you’re being looked after and protected. I can’t do anything for you. I don’t got much soul left for you to charge off and you’re not well enough to heal me. If we tried either one we’d only be killing each other. So I’ll stay here and do as little as possible and you do the same on your end, all right?”
“You want me to leave you,” Castiel repeated, hurt.
“No, I want you healed and you want me alive, which means you gotta go, otherwise you’ll give me another heart-attack from worrying. If I had known this was the shape you were in, I’d never have let Sam pray to you in the first place. I can’t believe he even sent you here after seeing you like this.”
“Well, in Sam’s defence, he’s not quite as adept as reading me as you are,” Castiel said.
“No one is,” Dean winked. His breathing increased again as he felt the painful constrictions of the muscles in his chest at the prolonged upright position. Castiel saw and tried to ease him back on the pillows, only to cry out - sharp and startled - when he realised he had pulled his own wound.
“Quite a pair, the three of us,” Dean muttered, dropping himself to the pillows after putting a restraining hand on Castiel’s chest.
“Dean, I’m so sorry,” Castiel said sadly, this time lying gingerly next to Dean. “I should have been there.”
“Did you get your brother?”
“Yes, he’s safe now, healing as well. They did quite a number on him.”
“I’m glad he’s safe. Don’t apologise, Cas, okay? You did what you had to. How long until you’re better?”
“If I return to Heaven immediately, then one human week,” Castiel said confidently.
“Then shake a tail feather, Mister Winchester, you got some healing to do. I’ll see you then. I can hold out one lousy week,” Dean’s grin was small and tired but his clouded eyes were still warm. “Thus with a kiss-”
Castiel interrupted with just that before Dean could complete the famous quote. “I always hated that play. Not one of Shakespeare’s most clever.”
“Well, Dude, you’re like the only one in the world. I mean, even I know that one,” Dean said sleepily. “Now go before we start talking about larks and nightingales. No tragic romances happening here, capiche?”
“I capiche. I’ll see you in a week, if I see you before then in Heaven, I will resurrect you only to kill you myself,” Castiel vowed. Castiel strained and kissed him again before - with a faint flutter and the ghostly brush of feathers over Dean’s skin - Castiel was gone.
No more than fifteen minutes later, Sam barrelled into the room, grin firmly planted on his face. His eyes flicked around the small space, the grin slowly falling when he saw no sign of anyone other than Dean, who was still laid up in bed. The older man who had been drifting off to sleep woke again at the commotion.
“Hey, Sammy.”
Sam took a few strides across the room and peered uncertainly into the washroom before turning back. “Where’s Cas?”
“Gone upstairs,” Dean replied.
Sam looked to the motel’s ceiling and was about to comment but his eyes widened as something clicked into place before he could. “What? To Heaven?”
“I’m a little ticked at you, Sam. You never should have sent him here.”
“What do you mean I never should have sent him here? Why aren’t you better?”
“You mean you really didn’t notice? Dude was spilling grace all over the place! He nearly died, a few inches higher and he would have. He was in no shape to be flying around, let alone heal anyone.”
“I didn’t… He seemed fine when he popped into the Impala. I nearly swerved off the road, but he seemed fine.”
“It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone back to Heaven to recuperate and then he’ll be back to heal me up as soon as he can. I’ll be fine.”
Sam set his white shopping bag down, gnawing his lip nervously. He had been all set to stow his items in the Impala and take a few days rest after Dean’s close call. Never in a million years had he thought that Castiel would be unable to heal Dean. It was a power the angel avoided using, but in life or death situations he had been known to bend his self-imposed rules.
“When will Cas be back?” Sam asked timidly.
“About a week.”
“A week?! You may not have a week, Dean!”
“Sam-”
“No, no way, I’m not letting you talk your way out of this one. I am not letting you die. It’s a damn good thing I didn’t toss that address for the specialist. We’re going.”
Dean tried to open his mouth to protest, to assert that the safest thing for him to do right now was stay stationary but he saw the determination radiating off of his brother’s entire body. In moments like these, Dean thought Sam had never looked more like Dad. John and Sam had the same pit-bull resolve, the same single-minded dedication. God he was like their dad. So, so much.
Dean just sat quietly while Sam moved around the room, quick and efficient. He had them packed up and ready to go in less than ten minutes.
Sam loaded the car then returned to help Dean. Dean tried to fight him off but failed; he just succumbed to Sam’s coddling as the younger man led him to the passenger seat of the car.
xx
When they rolled up outside a large white tent, the ground thick with muck and packed with cars, Dean felt a sinking deep in his gut. He pushed the car door open, the familiar creak doing nothing to settle him. Sam ran over to help Dean out of the car but Dean pushed him away, grumbling.
“You lying bastard, thought you said we were seeing a doctor.”
“I believe I said specialist. Look Dean, this guy is supposed to be the real deal.”
“Bullshit. There’s only a select few things that prance along this marble’s crust that can actually heal people. I bang one nearly nightly and the others don’t exactly do house calls. So why the hell would some preacher from the Midwest be able to heal people?”
“Maybe God works in mysterious ways,” a lilting feminine voice called from behind.
Dean turned to see a beautiful, petite blonde smiling faintly at him from under her umbrella.
“Yeah, well, I’m intimately connected to how mysterious God works, Lady. Faith ain’t exactly my problem, believing that this guy can do the work of angels? Now that’s far-fetched.”
“So it’s nice to know you believe in something,” the young woman mused. “You almost sound like you know angels personally.”
Dean grinned. “I’m Dean, this is Sam.”
The young woman raised a brow at the abrupt subject change but shook his hand and answered, “Layla… So if you don’t believe, then why are you here?”
“Apparently my brother believes enough for the both of us. I tried to tell him I’m covered but he’s convinced I’ll keel over any second.”
Layla tried to speak again but she was interrupted when an older woman who shared enough of her features to indicate they were related linked their arms and pulled her away. “Come on, Layla, it’s about to start.”
Layla spared them a quick smile before she was out of their line of sight.
“Well that was educational. Can we go? If I stand in this mud much longer I’m gonna get trench foot.”
“Come on,” Sam said, aggravated, and tugged Dean towards the tent.
They slogged through the well-trodden field, Dean shivering by the time they reached the relative warmth of the tent. Even with his sweatshirt and coat, his body found it difficult to ward off the chill. He was ready to plunk his ass and hunker down in the first available seat, but Sam once again dragged him off and away.
“Let’s just sit here,” Dean tried to protest.
“No, we’re sitting at the front.”
“What for?”
“Come on.”
“For Christ’s sake, Sam,” Dean grumbled. He ignored the glares he got at the invocation and resisted the urge to snap out that their saviour was his brother-in-law. He figured this was a pretty God and angel fearing crowd and they wouldn’t take too kindly to the insinuation that a lowly human could ‘corrupt’ an angel.
Sam was coddling again as he led Dean away. “You all right?”
“I’m good, Dude,” Dean slapped his brother’s hands away. “Get off of me.”
The opening lines of the service were pretty conventional and Dean felt his discomfort grow with each uttered word and the combined zeal of the surrounding crowd. It was no secret that religion made him uncomfortable. Hell, he hadn’t even believed in God until he had cold, hard proof in the form of his husband. Castiel’s very existence meant that a God existed. Dean still wasn’t sure what to think of his absent father-in-law but he kept his mouth shut about it around Castiel. Guy had more faith than the entire garrison combined. He was so, so convinced that God would intercede if things got really messy, but Dean honestly wasn’t too sure. He figured things were pretty damn messy as it was. The Twentieth Century was a real trip, and so far the Twenty-First wasn’t shaping up to be much better. Maybe the world would be better if it burned. Dean grimaced. The moment he thought that, the crowd roared around him, invoking the very thing that Dean was silently railing against.
Dean tuned back into the service just in time to hear the preacher say, “It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts.”
Dean couldn’t stop himself from turning to Sam and muttering, “Yeah, and their wallets.”
“What was that, Young Man?”
Dean’s eyes widened; he muttered a short, “Sorry.” He hoped it would be enough for the preacher, Roy, to turn a blind eye to him and keep on going. Dean grimaced at his poor choice of words when he looked back on stage and the few snatches of the earlier service filtered through his mind.
“No, no, don’t be. Just gotta be careful what you say around a blind man, Son. We got real sharp ears,” Roy remarked, his tone amused with a slight smile to match. The audience tittered and Dean looked down and away.
“What’s your name, Son?” Roy, much to Dean’s further mortification, asked.
“Ah… Dean.”
“Dean? Well, why don’t you come on up here, Dean.”
The crowd murmured excitedly. Dean’s head shot up and he shook it almost violently. “No, no thanks. Got it covered. Promise.”
“Well, come on, Dean, don’t be shy. You came here to be healed didn’t you?”
“No I-”
Sam didn’t let Dean finish. He prodded his brother out of the seat with a goofy smile on his face and an encouraging nod. Dean felt like a kid being shunted off to pre-school for the first time. No way in hell did he want to go up there. He didn’t even need to. If Sam would only listen to reason.
“Look, just pick someone else. I got my own angel on my shoulder, I’m good,” Dean tried. The crowd wasn’t too keen on that, their excited murmuring turned slightly hostile.
“Now, now, Folks. It’s refreshing to see a young man with so much faith. Just proves my point that he deserves to come on up.”
No one was having any of Dean’s denial. He couldn’t resist any longer and found himself on shaky legs in the middle of the small stage. The sick dread that had filled him when he stepped out of the car increased tenfold when he stared out at the hypnotized faces of the audience, their eyes almost glistening in their fervour.
Roy began to pray; the crowd joined him and Dean felt a chill dance up and down his spine. It was so completely different than when Castiel healed him. That was all heat and warmth and love. This felt wrong, dark. Not quite evil but also not close to benevolent. Dean wanted to run and he spared the thought that if he didn’t die from the rawhead attack, then the anxiety building up under his skin would kill him. His chest was already constricting painfully. When he glanced behind Roy, he saw an old, gaunt man in a funeral director suit. Dean’s legs gave out and he collapsed.
He heard Sam’s plaintive cry, then felt Sam’s familiar grip on his hoodie. Dean gasped and his eyes shot open. The man behind Roy loomed and disappeared. Everything about what had just happened screamed wrong.
xx
“Fuck!” Michael tossed a silver serving tray across the room. The resounding clatter and metallic clang did nothing to lessen his anger. “That miserable, stupid, ape escaped it again!”
The plan was supposed to be flawless. Lure Castiel away from his pet human by kidnapping Castiel’s favourite little turncoat. Get Castiel killed or at least injured gravely enough to prevent him from healing Dean. Ask Fate to work a little of her particular brand of magic, and have Dean keel over good and proper. Then it would only be a matter of time before the first seal would break.
Michael hadn’t managed to secure his vessel, but this should have been child’s play. The hunter put himself at risk so often that it wasn’t even that difficult to ease him into just the right precarious situation. The vessel aspect would come with time.
Now though, Castiel was once more off the grid, tucked away in his little pocket of Heaven. Michael’s last few pawns were out of play and Dean fucking Winchester was still very alive and kicking. The most guilt ridden human to ever walk the Earth, but alive and guilt ridden was still alive.
“This shouldn’t be so difficult!” Michael grimaced when he thought of his next course of action. It was time to deal with a few devils. The act was unclean, unthinkable, but he was running out of time and options. Not to mention patience.
Previous | Masterpost | Next
January 17th, 2006
Dean opened his eyes and he knew there was something not quite right. He was in a space that seemed to be an absence of space, just nothing but white and vastness all around him. He was also in a thin t-shirt and pyjama pants but felt no chill on his skin. For a moment, Dean thought with a hopeful lurch that Castiel was dream-walking on him, but the aura of this place didn’t feel like Cas and if it had been Cas they’d certainly be someplace a lot more comfortable than this. Castiel would know as well as Dean that there would be no way he was escaping from a dream-walk after so long without a little dream-fucking.
The hopeful lurch was quickly replaced with a sick dread and Dean looked around for an exit.
“You aren’t going to find one,” a deep voice rumbled out of the mist and a
powerfully-built man’s silhouette followed shortly after.
Gradually, the silhouette took shape and Dean couldn’t shake how familiar the man across from him looked. It took him a moment to realize that he had seen this man before in a photograph, wearing a leather jacket and straddling an old Indian Chief motorcycle from the ‘50s as he grinned into the camera. God it was his dad. No, wait, it wasn’t, his eyes were wrong - cold hazel shards.
“You aren’t my dad,” Dean said, agitated.
“No,” the not-Dad smiled darkly and little amused. “I’m not.”
“You’re an angel?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Who?”
The being wearing Dean’s father’s face tutted and strode closer, that same darkly amused smile curling his lips. He stopped mere inches in front of Dean’s face and twisted and tilted it around, eyes gazing hard into Dean as if he were searching for something.
“Who?” Dean gritted, wrenching his face out of the mysterious angel’s grip.
“I think this meeting is long, long overdue, don’t you Dean?”
“Sure, but you know what’s great at meetings? Names.”
“Think really hard, it’ll come to you,” the angel patronized.
“Why are you wearing my dad?” Dean demanded, not willing to play Rumpelstiltskin with this creep.
“He’s the last one who said yes, years ago, but that’s not important now. Do you know how vessels work, Dean?”
Dean didn’t reply. Castiel hadn’t really told him much about it.
The angel shrugged. “Not important. Anyway, I’m not here to discuss that right now. I’m just here to make sure you’re all right.”
Dean snorted. “Yeah. Right. That’s swell. And really, I believe you so much right now. I’m touched.”
“No, really, Dean. I just want to reassure myself that you’re adjusting. It must be difficult. I know it’s been some time now, but it is so hard to tell how quickly these things set in. Also, I’m assuming Castiel only came clean about the entire sticky situation recently. He does have a tendency to be… shall we say… reticent?” The angel smirked and it wasn’t pleasant.
“What are you talking about?” Dean asked suspiciously, backing up from the angel.
“Well you know, this is round two of this little event. I wanted to give it another shot. I felt you had an unfair advantage the last time. So I went back and… altered a few things. Including, much to my chagrin, Castiel’s relationship to you. I really had no idea he would be so willing to rebel again and so quickly. You be sure to tell him that when I find him he’s going to be punished for his transgressions and I won’t be lenient about it.
“Anyway, clearly you’ve forgiven him for manipulating you into this romance. I suppose it could be some strange Stockholm phenomenon. Perhaps it was only natural that you fell together in such a way. Though it is strange, at the end last time, you were just barely friends and now he has you tamed. Devoted. Practically virginal. He reined in Dean Winchester - the sower of wild oats. Remarkable. Anyway, I’m sure we’ll see each other again. I’m glad to see you’re adjusting so well.”
Dean woke-up.
Dean was shaken and he didn’t understand what the angel interloper had been spewing in his head. Round two? Reined in? Manipulated? None of it made a lick of sense and Dean was halfway to chalking it up to a crazy alcohol-induced dream and actually very nearly convinced of it. That, however, didn’t stop the tiny, niggling little seed of doubt that had been planted in his mind. Did angels lie? Or were they the often more painful half-truths type? Dean was shocked that he had no idea.
He fumbled at the bedside table, trying not to disturb Sam in the motel bed across from his. Dean found the mickey of whiskey he had stuck there last night and swigged a good mouthful. It burned going down so he chased it with another. The warmth settling gradually in his gut made his eyes droop again and as he fell back to sleep, forgetting - for the time being - that weird-ass dream.
xx
January 17th, 2006 - Later
The rawhead had been brutal and it didn’t look good for Dean at all. Sam was halfway to panic when nearly two hours had gone by without so much as a peep from the doctor. All the interaction he received was from the pretty but grating nurse asking him about lapsed healthcare coverage and the police officers asking him question after question about just what exactly had happened in the damn house. How could Sam have been so stupid as to leave his brother alone like that? What had he been thinking? Sure, it had been important to get the kids out - there was no way he was disputing that - but at the same time, he’d just walked away without a backward glance and he hadn’t dragged Dean’s stupid ass with him.
Sam finally let himself relax a little when he saw the doctor approach; his intent was clearly sharing Dean’s condition. Tension eased prematurely only to double when the doctor told Sam just how serious Dean’s condition actually was. What was worse was Dean’s typical ‘devil-may-care’ attitude towards the entire thing. Sam wanted to do something about it so, so badly but his hands were tied.
Dean’s heart was damaged; he only had weeks to live - weeks. At least that’s what the chances would be for most people, but the Winchesters weren’t most people and they had other avenues to explore. Dean had put up a fight over the issue but Sam wasn’t about to take this one lying down. He stayed until visiting hours were over, not even risking a few minutes to make two short phone calls while his brother was still in reach. Back at the motel however, Sam got to work.
Sam knew the first thing he had to do without a doubt and sat at the foot of the motel bed, hands clasped, arms rested on his knees, head bowed. He cleared his throat, “Ah… Cas? Castiel. Look, it’s Sam, and I don’t really know if I’m saying this right, but I pray to God that you can hear me. I don’t normally direct one of these things to someone in particular, but I’ve seen Dean do it a few times. Look, Dean’s hurt and it’s pretty bad. I know you’re busy rescuing your brother but Dean… They say Dean is going to die. I’m not going to let that happen, though; they don’t know the things we do. So if you can get down here, it would probably be a really good idea. But I swear, Cas… Castiel. I won’t let him die. Um… Amen?”
Sam was sure he’d never felt more awkward in his life. The next call he made was more traditional. He left a few of his contacts a message and then started a search on the computer, then dialled a number that was now more familiar to him than his own apartment’s since he had dialled it so many times with the same result: no answer on the other side. Sam knew his dad wasn’t too keen to hear from him, but he needed to know about Dean, without a doubt.
Sam left a shaky voicemail, hating the fact that his eyes were burning with threatened tears and his throat felt thick and tight. “Hey, Dad. It's Sam. Uh...you probably won't even get this, but, uh...it's Dean. He's sick, and uh...the doctors say there's nothing they can do. Um...but, uh, they don't know the things we know, right? So, don't worry, cause I'm, uh...gonna do whatever it takes to get him better. Alright...just wanted you to know.”
That was that, now Sam just had to play the waiting game, but sitting idle was never something Sam excelled at. He only had two return calls, and though one seemed like a probable solution, he had hoped for a little more choice. Now the room had been quiet again for nearly thirty minutes. It was almost a relief when he heard a sharp rap on the door. Thinking it was a maid, he welcomed the small distraction that telling her that her services wouldn’t be required presented. It wasn’t the maid.
“Jesus Christ, Dean, what the fuck are you doing here?” Sam helped Dean across the threshold and then to one of the chairs in the motel room. The firmer base of it would offer more support to Dean’s damaged body. Dean sank into it gratefully, panting slightly with the strain it took to get here.
“Not gonna die in a hospital where the nurses aren’t even hot,” Dean grumbled.
Sam rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like you spare anyone a second glance.”
“Nah, but sometimes they get a first. Allowed to look, Sammy, just not touch,” Dean grinned but it was clearly forced.
“You know, Dean? This whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death thing is clearly crap, I can see right through it.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Dean dismissed. “Dude, have you even slept? You look worse than me.”
“I’ve been scouring the internet and calling every contact in Dad’s journal.”
“For what?”
“A way to help you. I mean, I gave Cas a shout too, but I don’t know if I did it right. Haven’t heard from him yet and he was the first call I made.”
“You what?” Dean demanded angrily.
“Called Cas. Jesus, Dean, he’s the first person who should have been made aware. You mean in the last few days it hasn’t crossed your mind once to tell your husband that you’re fucking dying?” Sam was angry himself at that little inference.
“He’s busy, Sam, he’s rescuing his brother. I’m not about to pull him away from that.”
“You’re dying.”
“So you’ve said. I ain’t worried.”
“Well whatever, one of Dad’s friends, Joshua, gave me a call back. He told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist.”
“You aren’t going to let me die in peace, are you?” Dean huffed.
“I’m not going to let you die, period,” Sam vowed.
xx
After Sam had ordered Dean to bed and buried him under about a half-ton of blankets, he went out to get some additional supplies for the trip. Nebraska was a few hours away and they would need to be prepared. Dean had been drifting in and out of sleep in his little brother’s absence but his eyes flew open when he felt a tingle like a kiss ghost over his skin.
“Hey, Cas,” Dean grinned. “Guess Sam didn’t have to worry after all, huh?”
Castiel smiled. “Hello, Dean.” Castiel’s face sobered when he said, “I must admit, I’m a little pissed off at you. After I went to Sam to find out where you were, he told me you wanted to keep this a secret from me.”
Dean face fell a little as he grimaced, pushing himself up. “Cas, that’s not really… I didn’t want to pull you away from your battle. Balthazar is your favourite and closest brother; I don’t want to come between that.”
Castiel came over to the bed; he was trying to make his gait firm and resolved but Dean noticed there was something off in his step. Dean furrowed his brow at the barely-discernible wince as Castiel began lowering himself to the edge of the bed next to Dean.
Despite the now perpetual strain on his body, Dean managed to gather enough strength to spring forward and force the baggy folds of Castiel’s trench-coat aside. “What the fuck, Cas?” There was a gaping, angry wound, bleeding not only the red of humanity but also glimmering a blazing blue-white from the deepest recesses.
“Oh, God,” Dean felt sick, his hand reaching out impotently, knowing staunching the flow would be useless against leaking grace. A wound like this could only be caused by one thing - an angel armed with their sword.
Castiel grasped Dean’s hands in his own and tucked the coat back over to conceal the wound. “I’ll be fine.”
“That isn’t fine, Cas!” Dean eyes flashed.
“Dean-”
“I can’t believe you even flew here hurt like that, what were you thinking? Jesus, Cas, you almost died!”
“Dean, you are fucking dying!” Castiel roared back. “To even insinuate that I would for one moment think my injury was more vital than your own is absurd! I’ll heal, you have weeks to live. I’m not going to leave you like that! I see how damaged your heart is, Dean Winchester, I can feel life running out of you! It makes me sick inside; I felt it the moment you were injured but my brothers kept me confined and I couldn’t come. I wanted to be here with every fragment of my being. I was terrified.”
“Cas-”
“No, stop it. For one moment, think of yourself for a change, Dean. You sacrifice and sacrifice and sacrifice and it never even crosses your mind that there are people who love you just as surely, just as fiercely as you love them. If something happened, if you died and I wasn’t with you? I couldn’t bear it. The moment you’re gone from this Earth, I’m following you.”
“Cas-”
“How many wa-”
“Castiel!”
Cas snapped his mouth shut.
“Now you listen to me,” Dean gritted out, his face pale. “This is me thinking of myself. I need you to go.”
“What?” Castiel gaped.
“I need you to go. You’ll heal faster with your brothers right? Up in the heavenly angel hospital or wherever they had you holed up?”
“I…”
“Cas?”
“Yes,” Castiel forced out.
“Good, because listen up. If you want me to live out the weeks until you’re well enough to heal me again, I need you gone. Don’t even try to tell me you can heal me now because the moment I see grace, I know you’re little more than a baby in a trench-coat.”
Castiel pouted after that proclamation.
Dean chased the insult with a gentle smile and a squeeze of Castiel’s hands. “Look, you want me better, you gotta get better. I won’t be okay if I’m stuck worrying about you the entire time. At least upstairs I know you’re being looked after and protected. I can’t do anything for you. I don’t got much soul left for you to charge off and you’re not well enough to heal me. If we tried either one we’d only be killing each other. So I’ll stay here and do as little as possible and you do the same on your end, all right?”
“You want me to leave you,” Castiel repeated, hurt.
“No, I want you healed and you want me alive, which means you gotta go, otherwise you’ll give me another heart-attack from worrying. If I had known this was the shape you were in, I’d never have let Sam pray to you in the first place. I can’t believe he even sent you here after seeing you like this.”
“Well, in Sam’s defence, he’s not quite as adept as reading me as you are,” Castiel said.
“No one is,” Dean winked. His breathing increased again as he felt the painful constrictions of the muscles in his chest at the prolonged upright position. Castiel saw and tried to ease him back on the pillows, only to cry out - sharp and startled - when he realised he had pulled his own wound.
“Quite a pair, the three of us,” Dean muttered, dropping himself to the pillows after putting a restraining hand on Castiel’s chest.
“Dean, I’m so sorry,” Castiel said sadly, this time lying gingerly next to Dean. “I should have been there.”
“Did you get your brother?”
“Yes, he’s safe now, healing as well. They did quite a number on him.”
“I’m glad he’s safe. Don’t apologise, Cas, okay? You did what you had to. How long until you’re better?”
“If I return to Heaven immediately, then one human week,” Castiel said confidently.
“Then shake a tail feather, Mister Winchester, you got some healing to do. I’ll see you then. I can hold out one lousy week,” Dean’s grin was small and tired but his clouded eyes were still warm. “Thus with a kiss-”
Castiel interrupted with just that before Dean could complete the famous quote. “I always hated that play. Not one of Shakespeare’s most clever.”
“Well, Dude, you’re like the only one in the world. I mean, even I know that one,” Dean said sleepily. “Now go before we start talking about larks and nightingales. No tragic romances happening here, capiche?”
“I capiche. I’ll see you in a week, if I see you before then in Heaven, I will resurrect you only to kill you myself,” Castiel vowed. Castiel strained and kissed him again before - with a faint flutter and the ghostly brush of feathers over Dean’s skin - Castiel was gone.
No more than fifteen minutes later, Sam barrelled into the room, grin firmly planted on his face. His eyes flicked around the small space, the grin slowly falling when he saw no sign of anyone other than Dean, who was still laid up in bed. The older man who had been drifting off to sleep woke again at the commotion.
“Hey, Sammy.”
Sam took a few strides across the room and peered uncertainly into the washroom before turning back. “Where’s Cas?”
“Gone upstairs,” Dean replied.
Sam looked to the motel’s ceiling and was about to comment but his eyes widened as something clicked into place before he could. “What? To Heaven?”
“I’m a little ticked at you, Sam. You never should have sent him here.”
“What do you mean I never should have sent him here? Why aren’t you better?”
“You mean you really didn’t notice? Dude was spilling grace all over the place! He nearly died, a few inches higher and he would have. He was in no shape to be flying around, let alone heal anyone.”
“I didn’t… He seemed fine when he popped into the Impala. I nearly swerved off the road, but he seemed fine.”
“It doesn’t matter now. He’s gone back to Heaven to recuperate and then he’ll be back to heal me up as soon as he can. I’ll be fine.”
Sam set his white shopping bag down, gnawing his lip nervously. He had been all set to stow his items in the Impala and take a few days rest after Dean’s close call. Never in a million years had he thought that Castiel would be unable to heal Dean. It was a power the angel avoided using, but in life or death situations he had been known to bend his self-imposed rules.
“When will Cas be back?” Sam asked timidly.
“About a week.”
“A week?! You may not have a week, Dean!”
“Sam-”
“No, no way, I’m not letting you talk your way out of this one. I am not letting you die. It’s a damn good thing I didn’t toss that address for the specialist. We’re going.”
Dean tried to open his mouth to protest, to assert that the safest thing for him to do right now was stay stationary but he saw the determination radiating off of his brother’s entire body. In moments like these, Dean thought Sam had never looked more like Dad. John and Sam had the same pit-bull resolve, the same single-minded dedication. God he was like their dad. So, so much.
Dean just sat quietly while Sam moved around the room, quick and efficient. He had them packed up and ready to go in less than ten minutes.
Sam loaded the car then returned to help Dean. Dean tried to fight him off but failed; he just succumbed to Sam’s coddling as the younger man led him to the passenger seat of the car.
xx
When they rolled up outside a large white tent, the ground thick with muck and packed with cars, Dean felt a sinking deep in his gut. He pushed the car door open, the familiar creak doing nothing to settle him. Sam ran over to help Dean out of the car but Dean pushed him away, grumbling.
“You lying bastard, thought you said we were seeing a doctor.”
“I believe I said specialist. Look Dean, this guy is supposed to be the real deal.”
“Bullshit. There’s only a select few things that prance along this marble’s crust that can actually heal people. I bang one nearly nightly and the others don’t exactly do house calls. So why the hell would some preacher from the Midwest be able to heal people?”
“Maybe God works in mysterious ways,” a lilting feminine voice called from behind.
Dean turned to see a beautiful, petite blonde smiling faintly at him from under her umbrella.
“Yeah, well, I’m intimately connected to how mysterious God works, Lady. Faith ain’t exactly my problem, believing that this guy can do the work of angels? Now that’s far-fetched.”
“So it’s nice to know you believe in something,” the young woman mused. “You almost sound like you know angels personally.”
Dean grinned. “I’m Dean, this is Sam.”
The young woman raised a brow at the abrupt subject change but shook his hand and answered, “Layla… So if you don’t believe, then why are you here?”
“Apparently my brother believes enough for the both of us. I tried to tell him I’m covered but he’s convinced I’ll keel over any second.”
Layla tried to speak again but she was interrupted when an older woman who shared enough of her features to indicate they were related linked their arms and pulled her away. “Come on, Layla, it’s about to start.”
Layla spared them a quick smile before she was out of their line of sight.
“Well that was educational. Can we go? If I stand in this mud much longer I’m gonna get trench foot.”
“Come on,” Sam said, aggravated, and tugged Dean towards the tent.
They slogged through the well-trodden field, Dean shivering by the time they reached the relative warmth of the tent. Even with his sweatshirt and coat, his body found it difficult to ward off the chill. He was ready to plunk his ass and hunker down in the first available seat, but Sam once again dragged him off and away.
“Let’s just sit here,” Dean tried to protest.
“No, we’re sitting at the front.”
“What for?”
“Come on.”
“For Christ’s sake, Sam,” Dean grumbled. He ignored the glares he got at the invocation and resisted the urge to snap out that their saviour was his brother-in-law. He figured this was a pretty God and angel fearing crowd and they wouldn’t take too kindly to the insinuation that a lowly human could ‘corrupt’ an angel.
Sam was coddling again as he led Dean away. “You all right?”
“I’m good, Dude,” Dean slapped his brother’s hands away. “Get off of me.”
The opening lines of the service were pretty conventional and Dean felt his discomfort grow with each uttered word and the combined zeal of the surrounding crowd. It was no secret that religion made him uncomfortable. Hell, he hadn’t even believed in God until he had cold, hard proof in the form of his husband. Castiel’s very existence meant that a God existed. Dean still wasn’t sure what to think of his absent father-in-law but he kept his mouth shut about it around Castiel. Guy had more faith than the entire garrison combined. He was so, so convinced that God would intercede if things got really messy, but Dean honestly wasn’t too sure. He figured things were pretty damn messy as it was. The Twentieth Century was a real trip, and so far the Twenty-First wasn’t shaping up to be much better. Maybe the world would be better if it burned. Dean grimaced. The moment he thought that, the crowd roared around him, invoking the very thing that Dean was silently railing against.
Dean tuned back into the service just in time to hear the preacher say, “It is the Lord who does the healing here, friends. The Lord who guides me in choosing who to heal by helping me see into people's hearts.”
Dean couldn’t stop himself from turning to Sam and muttering, “Yeah, and their wallets.”
“What was that, Young Man?”
Dean’s eyes widened; he muttered a short, “Sorry.” He hoped it would be enough for the preacher, Roy, to turn a blind eye to him and keep on going. Dean grimaced at his poor choice of words when he looked back on stage and the few snatches of the earlier service filtered through his mind.
“No, no, don’t be. Just gotta be careful what you say around a blind man, Son. We got real sharp ears,” Roy remarked, his tone amused with a slight smile to match. The audience tittered and Dean looked down and away.
“What’s your name, Son?” Roy, much to Dean’s further mortification, asked.
“Ah… Dean.”
“Dean? Well, why don’t you come on up here, Dean.”
The crowd murmured excitedly. Dean’s head shot up and he shook it almost violently. “No, no thanks. Got it covered. Promise.”
“Well, come on, Dean, don’t be shy. You came here to be healed didn’t you?”
“No I-”
Sam didn’t let Dean finish. He prodded his brother out of the seat with a goofy smile on his face and an encouraging nod. Dean felt like a kid being shunted off to pre-school for the first time. No way in hell did he want to go up there. He didn’t even need to. If Sam would only listen to reason.
“Look, just pick someone else. I got my own angel on my shoulder, I’m good,” Dean tried. The crowd wasn’t too keen on that, their excited murmuring turned slightly hostile.
“Now, now, Folks. It’s refreshing to see a young man with so much faith. Just proves my point that he deserves to come on up.”
No one was having any of Dean’s denial. He couldn’t resist any longer and found himself on shaky legs in the middle of the small stage. The sick dread that had filled him when he stepped out of the car increased tenfold when he stared out at the hypnotized faces of the audience, their eyes almost glistening in their fervour.
Roy began to pray; the crowd joined him and Dean felt a chill dance up and down his spine. It was so completely different than when Castiel healed him. That was all heat and warmth and love. This felt wrong, dark. Not quite evil but also not close to benevolent. Dean wanted to run and he spared the thought that if he didn’t die from the rawhead attack, then the anxiety building up under his skin would kill him. His chest was already constricting painfully. When he glanced behind Roy, he saw an old, gaunt man in a funeral director suit. Dean’s legs gave out and he collapsed.
He heard Sam’s plaintive cry, then felt Sam’s familiar grip on his hoodie. Dean gasped and his eyes shot open. The man behind Roy loomed and disappeared. Everything about what had just happened screamed wrong.
xx
“Fuck!” Michael tossed a silver serving tray across the room. The resounding clatter and metallic clang did nothing to lessen his anger. “That miserable, stupid, ape escaped it again!”
The plan was supposed to be flawless. Lure Castiel away from his pet human by kidnapping Castiel’s favourite little turncoat. Get Castiel killed or at least injured gravely enough to prevent him from healing Dean. Ask Fate to work a little of her particular brand of magic, and have Dean keel over good and proper. Then it would only be a matter of time before the first seal would break.
Michael hadn’t managed to secure his vessel, but this should have been child’s play. The hunter put himself at risk so often that it wasn’t even that difficult to ease him into just the right precarious situation. The vessel aspect would come with time.
Now though, Castiel was once more off the grid, tucked away in his little pocket of Heaven. Michael’s last few pawns were out of play and Dean fucking Winchester was still very alive and kicking. The most guilt ridden human to ever walk the Earth, but alive and guilt ridden was still alive.
“This shouldn’t be so difficult!” Michael grimaced when he thought of his next course of action. It was time to deal with a few devils. The act was unclean, unthinkable, but he was running out of time and options. Not to mention patience.
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