Fic: Dean Winchester, Patron Saint: Assassin's Creed
Title: Dean Winchester, Patron Saint: Assassin’s Creed
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean, Castiel, Inais, Hester, Alfie, [Spoiler]Rachel
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG13
Genre: Canon Divergence post Season 5
Word Count: 8,473
Warning: Violence, Season 6 References, Mild Angst, Angels, BAMF Dean, Powers Dean, True Forms
Summary: He just wanted to go to the grocery store. He definitely didn't want to reenact West Side Story in an abandoned parking lot.
A/N: Part of my Patron Saint arc, second in my Apple Pie Life verse.
*
Life has been going relatively smoothly for Dean. The angels still not-so-covertly stalked him and Dean’s kids still ran around like a chickens with their heads cut off. His frequent angel visitor roster grew from just Alfie to Inias and, sometimes, Hester.
Alfie was still innocent and enthusiastic in his attempts to appear more human. Inias was still unceasingly curious. He seemed to be trying to learn absolutely everything he can about the world through the kids’ eyes. Hester, still aloof and standoffish, was starting to look hesitantly fond and mildly indulgent when she observed the kids; from a reasonable distance, of course.
Lisa was still Dean’s ex/land lord/awkward friend. She liked to watch while Dean was overrun by miniature people and laugh at his expense. Ben was still the closest thing to a son Dean was likely to ever have and he loved the kid all the more for it. Errol still mostly lived with the Braedens and had become just as much a part of their unorthodox and piecemeal family as Dean.
To top off Dean’s domestication he was now verbally acknowledged friends with a cop and had an antagonistically fond rapport with his partner. Plus, he could now legally (sort of) carry his Colt 1911 hidden under his jacket.
His life was stable and consistent. He had a home, a job, a makeshift family, and hadn’t had to kill anything evil in months. Regardless of how weird it still was (Winchester is synonymous with weird) his life was the most societally acceptable definition of normal it had ever been.
So, naturally, Fate had to throw a big, fat, dick shaped wrench in the works. What a bitch.
*
If Dean knew what would await him today he wouldn’t have gotten out bed. It wasn’t like they needed food that badly. Their kitchen totally didn’t resemble a grocery store the day after Thanksgiving. They could totally live off crackers and the dregs of a forgotten tub of peanut butter until tomorrow.
Okay so they couldn’t. Dean got out of bed, climbed into the Impala and drove down to the grocery store.
His cart (sadly it was the only one left and it squeaked like a dying squirrel) was half full with actual food and everything was just a normal Sunday of errands he had to run. After groceries he was going to stop by the hardware store and pick up the gaskets he needed to fix the disposal. It was making weird noises and there was no way he was doing dishes without it.
Holy God, he really was getting domesticated. If Dean wasn’t the closest to content he’d ever been in his entire life he would have been more devastated by this realization, but since he had a kitchen to restock and innumerable growing mouths to feed snacks to he pushed it all to the back of his mind.
Later, he would curl up in a corner with a bottle of whiskey and cry one perfect tear while he mourned the steady deterioration of his badass hunter cred and the inevitable loss of his man card.
But, for now, he was perusing the frozen food aisle for those mini pizza popper things and was gearing up to brave the ice-cream section. So many kids with so many requests. The hardest part was keeping the quantity reasonable while still satisfying everyone. A near impossible task, but Dean had become a master at it.
He was just about to reach into the freezer and snag a bucket of chunky monkey when a wave of pure malice made him cringe. Dean knew that if he closed the freezer door and looked down to the end of the aisle there would be an angel giving him such a massive stink eye he should really be a smoldering pile of ash in the middle of the frozen food section. He hadn’t felt anything like it since he’d shanked Zachariah through to chin.
It was hard to believe that the beings that everyone thought were God’s little fluffy winged do-gooders would try to kill someone just with the power of their mind. Which they actually could, but Dean had never been more thankful for being in a crowded grocery store in his life. The apocalypse was over, the world was back to normal (or a variation there of) and there were no inexplicable natural phenomenon to explain away a giant crater in front of the ice-cream freezer. Even the dicks with wings knew better than to smite someone in such a public place now.
Regardless of the attempt at subtlety, the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck still felt a little singed.
Letting the freezer door swing closed he looked toward the source of the waves of anger and hate. A figure so big is shouldn’t even be able to fit, two rings of flame around its thighs, three pairs of wings like flurries and gusts of snow, two faces of a blank mask and a white fox. Dean blinked and saw a tall black man in jogging shorts and a muscle shirt with an mp3 player still fastened to his arm standing at the end of the aisle. He was watching Dean like a fox watches a rabbit.
Any kind of confrontation would be a bad idea in a grocery store, so Dean turned away from his malevolent stalker and calmly pushed his squeaky cart down the opposite end of the aisle. He turned the corner paused for a moment his hands clenched around the handlebar white knuckled and took a steadying breath before he continued on with his Sunday shopping. Let it never be said that stalling wasn’t a viable battle strategy.
He was in a grocery store with nothing on him, but a flask of holy water, four knives, and his Colt; none of which will do anything to an angel except piss it off. The only chance he had was to stall as long as possible and hope the ridiculously angry angel just wanted to glare menacingly and will have flown off by the time he got to the cash register. If it was still following him the only chance he had of surviving the inevitable fight was to make it to his car and grab the angel sword he had in the trunk.
It was the same sword he’d used to kill Zachariah. He’d kept it since it had actually worked for him and Dean liked to hoard any and all weaponry he came across like they were toilet paper.
A pimply teenager rang him up and bagged his groceries with all the cans in one bag, the eggs underneath the ice-cream, and the sandwich meat sandwiched between the bananas and the cucumbers. Dean was too focused on the raging winged ball of rage still hovering behind him like a really terrifying shadow to pay much attention.
The angel stalked him out the doors, through the parking lot, and to the impala where it seemed to tire of following on foot and took to the air. It disappeared out of Dean’s range of awareness and he shifted from completely calm and oblivious errand runner to calm and disciplined hunter.
The groceries were thrown in the backseat with little care a second before Dean had the trunk open and the weapons locker lid propped up. He grabbed the blessed glass bottle of what little holy oil he had left, shoved another lighter in his pocket, and sheathed the gleaming angel sword inside his jacket. The Impala was revved up and pulling out of the parking lot in less than three minutes.
Dean turned down the street and toward the hardware store like he had planned. There were plenty of alleys, parking lots, and vacant lots that didn’t get much foot traffic or didn’t have direct sightlines onto major roads.
Just as he spotted an adequate battle ground, Dean realized that it might be a good idea to pray to his non-psycho or potentially violent stalkers.
Alright guys. I hope y’all have your ears on because there’s an angel on my tail and he doesn’t seem very happy with me. A little back up would be mightily appreciated.
That was as far as he got before he was turning into a relatively empty parking lot flanked on two sides by empty storefronts with a warehouse at its back. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave Dean space to maneuver; which he would definitely need when the angel inevitably came down to kick his ass. It would be harder for the angel to corner him and it was deserted except for a lone late-nineties Corolla with mismatched passenger doors and a for sale sign written in permanent marker taped to the windshield.
Dean was okay with that potential collateral damage.
He parked the Impala off to the side and got out. He was as prepared and armed as he was going to get and he just hoped he could hold out long enough for one of his angel buddies to save his ass.
Standing in the middle of the potholed and oil stained parking lot Dean spread his arms and shouted at the sky.
“Come on, you son of a bitch! I’m waiting!”
“Dean Winchester.”
Spinning around Dean saw his stalker had arrived. The angel’s dark face was absolutely expressionless. Balanced on the balls of its feet, sword already in hand, its borrowed body stiff and unyielding, frozen at attention like a toy soldier. Its gaze unwaveringly fastened on Dean.
Yeah, this was definitely going to suck.
“That’s my name don’t wear it out.” Dean responded with a grin like a bearing of teeth.
Apparently the angel wasn’t amused. Its blank face didn’t even twitch, but it seemed to just get even more pissed off; if that was even possible.
“So which winged dick are you?” Dean asked after a long strained pause.
The angel’s expression finally changed. Its upper lip curled in a sneer. “My name is not to be sullied by the ears of a parasite like you.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose and he whistled. “Tell us how you really feel.”
The angel took that as permission to monologue. It continued speaking like Dean hadn’t said anything.
“Angels had purpose, we had a path, but now,” its sneer grew into a snarl, “now you have destroyed all that we have worked towards.”
The angel began to glow as it worked itself up. “The apocalypse was our way to Paradise! It was to be our reward for following God’s greatest plan.”
Dean didn’t even see it move, but suddenly the angel’s arm was raised and its sword was pointed directly at him. He tensed, but held his position as he stared down the blade like it was the barrel of a gun.
“Now there is no rest, no paradise, no reward. Michael and Lucifer are lost to us locked in the Cage and you and your abomination of a brother have destroyed everything!”
Monologue about how the mean and terrible Dean smashed your toys all you want, but no one talks about Sammy like that.
“Hey, douche bag! Are you going to talk me to death or are we going to get this show on the road!” Dean growled. The angel sword was in his hand before the thought finished forming in his mind. It pulsed against his palm in time with his heartbeat then it settled into a low continuous hum like solid electricity clenched in his fist.
Jogger Angel shifted into a fighting stance, no movement wasted, no hesitation. Dean planted his feet and hoped like hell his angels would come and save him real soon. This was not going to end well.
“You will die and Raphael will bring us the apocalypse.”
Dean didn’t have time to register the implications of that because the angel was moving faster than any supernatural fugly he’d ever fought before. Its wings twitching minutely were the only warning Dean got and he was diving to the side a blink before the angel slashed where his head had just been.
Rolling with his momentum, Dean came up in a crouch and brought his sword up just in time to block a decapitating blow. The angel blinked once in surprise then its face was a picture of battle fury and their swords unlocked with a sharp twist.
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his wrist from the sharp jerk, Dean was on his feet and blocking another stab almost too late.
The sword’s tip was an inch from his belly when Dean shoved upward sending it off course. The angel didn’t let the awkward angle of its sword suddenly thrusting into the sky slow him down. It brought its elbow down on Dean’s shoulder. He felt the bone crack before he could jump out of range.
Shoving the agony to the back of his mind, Dean turned to the side avoiding the angel’s stab then slashed up and to the right. Jogger Angel let out a grunt of shock that rattled the loose gravel on the ground as it backed off for a moment. There was a crooked seeping line of blood and blinding white grace across its chest.
The angel looked up from its chest and Dean’s heart sped up painfully. The look in its eyes was deadly. It was going to stop playing now. Dean had drawn first blood and suddenly the kiddy gloves were off.
This time there was no warning. Dean gasped in surprise when a slash appeared across his chest to match the angel’s. Spinning around, Dean was just barely fast enough to avoid getting stabbed in the kidney but not fast enough to keep from getting sliced cross his ribcage almost vivisecting him.
Okay, now he was not only in deep shit, but he was fucking drowning in it. Where the hell were his little winged stalkers when he needed them!
The angel slashed and stabbed and thrust its sword into and at Dean. It gave no quarter and Dean was sporting a slice from wrist to elbow on his sword arm, a nice sword shaped hole in his opposite shoulder, a few broken ribs, and what he was pretty sure was a punctured lung. This fight had to end fast if Dean had any hope of living, or at least dying with all his limbs intact.
He was too pretty to die dismembered!
Dean blocked another overhand thrust, his arms trembling with the effort to hold his sword steady against the strength of the angel. He had one last idea. A Hail Mary he’d figured he wouldn’t live long enough to use. Seeing as he was bleeding, but not dead yet, it looked like it was time to use that last shot.
With a sudden surge of energy, Dean shoved and dislodged the angel’s sword from his own. The angel slid back a few yards with the force of the move, its vessel’s running shoes making tracks in the asphalt. Dean had the bottle of holy oil in his hand with the cork popped as he tossed himself forward.
He skidded on his knees across the gravel closing the gap between him and the angel. Sweeping his arm in wide arc upward, Dean aimed for the flaming rings circling the angel’s thighs. He didn’t stop moving as he flicked his Bic and tossed it.
It flew true and suddenly the angel was shrieking in agony as its legs and waist went up like a college bonfire.
Clawing at the pavement trying to stop his forward momentum, Dean’s knees went out from under him and he was skidding on his hip and side. He didn’t stop in time and hit the angel’s flaming shins. Scrabbling away, Dean stumbled back to his feet only a little singed, the back of his legs burning where his jeans had been flash fried away.
The angel was shrieking and screaming flailing futilely trying to put out the flames. Every pane of glass in a square block shattered with a sound like an iceberg splitting in two. Dean’s ears were aching like they were about to explode, but he didn’t waste any time worrying about his eardrums. His sword was in his hand and he was lunging.
The angel opened its eyes and looked Dean in his. It was like staring into blindingly bright spot lights, he was sure his eyes would burst into flames it hurt so bad, but Dean didn’t look away. He didn’t look away when he killed Azaezel, when he killed The Whore, when he killed Zachariah. And he wouldn’t look away when he killed this nameless angel.
It looked into his eyes, fear and fury reflected in the glaring light of its gaze and it screamed.
Dean thrust his sword down putting all his strength and weight behind it. The blade stabbed the burning angel in its chest piercing its vessel’s heart. His gaze was locked on the angel’s like they were Krazy Glued and he watched as the expressionless humanoid face was the first to explode.
One after another its fox head, its melting scorched rings, its body all disintegrated like the blast from an atomic bomb. The last to go were its six wings. The shock wave was enough to jolt Dean into yanking his sword free and finally breaking eye contact.
When he was steady on his feet again, bloodied sword clutched in his hand, Dean blinked away the spots and looked down at the tall black man in his jogging shorts and muscle shirt sprawled on the torn up asphalt of the parking lot. His eyes were unseeing pointed at the sky and his shattered mp3 player was scattered on the ground next to his arm. The ashy remains of two wings stretched across the lot from end to end.
Dean was bleeding and aching and barely standing straight. His left shoulder was a mess, his right arm looked like an emo teenager had gone to town, his back and chest felt like they’d been filleted (or a facsimile there of since he actually knew how being filleted felt), and his lungs gurgled alarmingly when he breathed.
Regardless of being amazingly alive, he was walking wounded and literally ten minutes away from passing out in the middle of a crime scene.
He stooped and picked up the angel’s sword only mildly surprised that he didn’t fall on his face trying to get back up. Dragging himself back to the impala he couldn’t dredge up enough energy to be pissed about the shattered windows or the melted ice-cream and cracked eggs on his leather seats. Tossing the angel swords on top of the bananas and cucumbers, Dean collapsed behind the wheel and started the engine.
He lost a pint of blood on the drive home and barely managed to pull into the driveway and put his baby in park before he lost consciousness.
*
Dean didn’t so much as regain consciousness as he was suddenly aware of the voices discussing him. Unfortunately he was unable to do much more than lay there in massive agony. He couldn’t even make himself groan in pain since his body was practically paralyzed and his energy was spent on not going under again while trying to concentrate on the conversation going on around him.
He said conversation, but from what Dean could understand through the haze of semi-consciousness and continuous pain, it sounded more like three angels squabbling about the doubt of his continued survival.
“We need to do something. He will not be able to continue on like this much longer.” Alfie sounded worried and -Dean would never say it to the baby angel’s face- like a lost little kid.
“There is nothing more we can do to heal him, Samandriel. None of us are a skilled healer and the poison in Dean’s wounds is far beyond even most of the Host’s healers.”
Inias, for the first time since Dean had met him, was darkly grave, his voice completely devoid of its natural light curiosity.
“This will not be the end of our efforts,” Hester snapped. “Dean Winchester will not fall to an assassin’s dishonorable tricks.”
Oh, Hester sounded pissed. She must be really freaked. The aloof angel almost never showed more emotion then distant interest and vague indulgence her nervous breakdown notwithstanding. He really hoped she wasn’t getting ready to have another one. He wouldn’t be able to help her this time since he was kind of half comatose at the moment.
“What more would you suggest, Sister?” Inias bit back betraying the fact that he was just as affected by their apparent helplessness as Hester.
Yeah, Dean thought distantly as he continued to listen to his angels snap and snarl above him, he was definitely fucked.
“We could summon one of the Rit Zien.” Alfie cut in before the other two angels could keep snapping at each other. He sounded painfully hopeful, like he prayed more than believed that it could be a solution. Dean’s chest ached with Alfie’s fear and desperation.
Hester hissed scornfully. “Rit Zien know nothing of human pain. They would rend him down to the molecules the moment they appeared.” She felt so much helpless anger Dean was distracted from the conversation as he almost choked on it. Trying to think through the feeling of his throat tightening unable to move to relieve it, he distantly remembered that Ephraim, the angel that healed Alfie, had called himself a rizzen or however you say it.
“Hester is right,” Inias spoke up when Alfie was about to argue. “Rit Zien are out of the question, but Dean still needs the hands of an expert healer if he is to live.”
“The Healers have almost all chosen to stand with Raphael and the few that are loyal to Castiel are not capable of battling the taint in his blood.” Hester said, frustration making her grit her teeth. “None that are capable would defy Raphael, not even to save Dean Winchester’s life.”
His full name, Dean thought muzzily; the angels kept saying his full name like it meant something. If he wasn’t dying while three freaked out angels argued about it, he would have paid it a bit more attention.
“There is one trained under Raphael that is loyal to Castiel.” Inias said.
There was a moment of silence that had Dean concentrating hard on the discussion. He didn’t want to miss a word especially since it was his ass on the line if this new plan didn’t pan out.
“You cannot be serious.” Hester did not sound enthused. Not reassuring
“She is the only one loyal to Castiel with the power to combat the poison.” Inias pressed.
“Loyal to Castiel she may be, but she has no great love of humans. She does not share his, or our, respect for Father’s creations.” Dean decided that Hester’s argument made this Florance Nighten-angel seem like even more of a long shot. Then again, Dean’s batting 1-0 with long shots so far and this chick sounded like his best bet.
“She will not heal a human man, not even one such as Dean Winchester, but she will heal him because Castiel regards him above all other humans.” Inias sounded pretty damn sure of that and even though Dean didn’t understand about half of his reasoning. Either way he was going to take it.
There was a pause as if each of his angels was weighing Inias’ assessment of this new angel. Alfie was the one that broke the silence.
“Rachel is our only option.” He was deadly serious in a way Dean had never heard before. His decision was final and he would tolerate no argument. “Summon her.”
*
When the sound of wings fluttering into the room followed on the heels of Alfie’s order Dean wasn’t surprised. Despite the pain and the current inevitability of his demise, he was still listening in on the drama happening outside of his gray haze of semi-consciousness.
The angel’s presence flowed over him and he recognized her; it was one of his angel stalkers. He’d seen her -impossibly large, two flaming gold rings around her neck and wrist, the faces of a mask and an eagle, and three pairs of gale force winds for wings- she was dressed in a librarian. Or at least that’s what Dean figured considering her vessel’s shapeless skirt, frumpy cardigan, and ugly black utilitarian shoes. Hell, she even had reading glasses hanging around her neck and a half bun so tight it looked like it had squeezed all the fun out of her.
“Why have you summoned me down here?” She demanded and, yeah, she sounded like an angry librarian. “You have called me away from my duties.”
“Sister, Dean Winchester is mortally wounded. You are the only angel with the power to heal him.” Alfie said his voice was once again laced with worry and youthful hope.
Rachel sniffed. “There are more important things to be concerned with than an injured human. Castiel is attempting to negotiate a détente with Raphael’s followers. If the balance is shifted it could mean civil war and you three are down here shirking your duties,” she said scathingly.
Whoa, wait a minute. Civil war?! Dean didn’t have time to start freaking out about that, though, because the conversation continued.
“War is almost inevitable.” Hester snarled. “Raphael sic-ed an assassin on Dean Winchester and now the Righteous Man lies dying.”
“The lives of thousands of our brothers no longer rest on the shoulders of one human,” Rachel retorted with a hissy snap.
Dean knew that regardless of what all the porn would have you believe an angelic cat fight breaking out in his room wouldn’t be any kind of fun and would only end in major property damage. Or, you know, a smoldering crater in the middle of Indiana, it’s a tossup.
“Dean Winchester is no mere human, Rachel. You have witnessed this just as we have.” Inias broke in before Hester could go for the eyes. “Even if he were just a man, Castiel would not let an attack on him go unanswered. Dean Winchester or not, this is a declaration of war.”
Well, that is unsettling. Ignoring all the freaky implications of his supposed importance, Dean was getting majorly concerned. Angels throwing around the words civil and war could only mean shit was about to get seriously real.
When Rachel responded, she didn’t sound very pleased. “I will heal him,” she finally capitulated sounding like the words tasted bad. “I will heal him because Castiel values him above all other humans and would go to war for his death. And I am loyal to our commander,” she added accusingly, audibly sneering and Dean just knew there was some epic angel bitch-face being thrown around.
The next thing he knew the angel was next to his bed her palm hovering over the jagged slash across his chest. There was a humming in the air like an electronic buzz and then Rachel hissed in disgust.
“The Innocent’s Bane,” she muttered scathingly as she moved her hand over Dean’s wounds, “Cowardly.” Nothing happened to ease the immense pain keeping Dean locked in a semi-conscious paralytic limbo until Rachel’s hand hovered over the gaping hole in his shoulder.
Suddenly, everything was beyond agonizing and Dean stopped paying attention to the outside world altogether. He was too busy trying not to explode from the inside out. Arching off the bed with a howl he just knew he was on Death’s doorstep with his fist raised to knock.
Leaching the poison, Dean thought muzzily the sound of his own screams deafening him. She was yanking out the assassin’s poison one molecule at a time. God, it hurt so fucking bad, like digging out buckshot with a dull spoon. Dean almost wished the fucking angel assassin had finished him off in that parking lot.
Dean lost track of time while he writhed in pain, it felt like it went on for years. Then as abruptly as it started it just stopped and he was left gagging on the air flooding into his lungs, his entire body shaking like he’d been electrocuted.
“Son of a bitch,” he gasped then he heaved. Hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him onto his side a split second before he was spewing blood and breakfast onto Lisa’s unfortunately cream colored carpet.
“The nausea will pass.”
“Awesome,” Dean gagged one last time then Rachel shoved him onto his back. “What the fuck?”
His blurry eyes slivered open and Dean got a front row seat to Rachel’s scowl. “You were poisoned.”
Dean groaned. “Yeah, I got that.” He fought through the residual pain, struggled to sit up and forced himself to speak. “I meant, what the hell is going on? I’m tripping on feathered stalkers, everything’s just peachy, then suddenly Jogger Angel is trying to shank me in the kidneys, my stalkers are MIA, and ‘civil war’ is being thrown around like confetti.” He finished with a surprised cough; he hadn’t realized he’d been yelling until his abused throat started to ache. Whoa, okay, guess he was angrier than he thought. “Seriously! What the hell?”
Now that he didn’t have one foot in the grave all his meager brain power was spent on getting answers and being pissed.
Collapsing back against the pillows with a huff, he was one part exhaustion, one part outrage, and one part not wanting to see the angelic kicked puppy faces and big worried watery chibi anime eyes his angels were pointing at him.
Yes, he’s seen some anime. There were tentacles… Don’t judge.
Despite his need for answers his body was continuing to tremor with the after effects of his angelic poison leaching and his skin had broken out in a cold sweat. Dean didn’t think he could lift his arms much less get up and walk. Being angry didn’t seem to be helping. He took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm as he tried to organize his thoughts.
“Alright,” he opened his eyes and turned to look at his angels. “From the top, tell me what happened.”
Surprisingly, Hester spoke first. “Raphael sent an assassin to kill you and the lily-livered sapsucker poisoned you with Innocent’s Bane!”
The lightbulb in the lamp on the bedside table exploded and Dean admitted that he was a little impressed. Hester was always pretty contained and controlled with her power -when she wasn’t about explode like a nuke-, but apparently asshole assassins with dirty tricks really ticked her off, though thankfully not enough to start actually smiting things.
Dean grinned. “Kitty got claws.”
Hester tilted her head and frowned in confusion. “I am an angel, not a cat.”
“I know. It was just a - you know what, never mind.” Dean sighed long-suffering. “Okay, I remember Jogger Angel and getting my ass kicked. I could hear while I was playing coma patient number four and I pretty much got the gist of the slow acting deadly poison-”
“It was not slow acting. You should have died almost immediately,” Rachel interrupted.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Dean said then promptly ignored it.
“-and the appearance of Doctor Rachel, Medicine Angel,” he continued. “What I don’t get is why Jogger Angel Assassin tried to kill me and why no one came when I called.”
His expression was harsh and three of the four angels in the room flushed. He didn’t even know angels could flush, but there they were.
“We tried, Dean.” Alfie insisted frustrated and angry with himself, ashamed of his failure. Dean softened at the glaringly apparent emotions stamped across the angel’s face. He couldn’t stay angry with his angels anyway, especially not when it was clear they were just as angry as he was that they weren’t there to help him.
He gave Alfie a reassuring nod. “I believe you, but then what happened?”
“The area was warded against outside interference. Your battle was over before we could break through.” Inias explained relaxing now that none of Dean’s anger was pointed at them despite being angry with the situation himself. “We should have been able to dismantle them sooner, but the wards were too strong.”
Dean’s gut sank with the implications. “So, it was planned. He didn’t just decide to be a dick and rid Raphael of this troublesome human.” Why couldn’t it ever just be an angel being a damn dick? “The Arch-asshole Raphael was in on it.”
“It was a sanctioned assassination.” Hester confirmed angrily.
“I still don’t get why anyone would assassinate me or even why assassination is even a thing. What the hell is happening up there?”
He decided to keep ignoring the confusing way the angels insisted on full naming and talking like he was important. He was going to keep on ignoring that until he couldn’t anymore. Standard Winchester procedure.
“I thought Cas had all your dick brothers in check.”
His angels all traded speaking looks unsubtly trying to decide just how much they should tell him. Oh yeah, some shit was going down and Dean didn’t appreciate the insinuation that he didn’t deserve full disclosure. He’d almost been killed for fuck sake, like hell he was getting the redacted version.
He scowled at them. “Somebody, please, enlighten me.”
“Raphael is attempting to destabilize Castiel by eliminating you and thus starting a civil war in Heaven.” Apparently Rachel had gotten tired of all the avoidance.
“That!” Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Explain that.”
“The Archangel Raphael is leading a faction of angels that seek to restart the Apocalypse and achieve Paradise.” Inias explained reluctantly. “Castiel is keeping violence at a minimum. There is a suspension of hostilities, but it’s precarious.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, he was getting a headache. “So I’m stuck in the middle of an angelic cold war. Awesome.” He was already so fucking done with Heaven’s politics.
“Why am I a political chess piece again? Cas is the only one that cares about me and it’s not like I’m important to Heaven anymore.” He asked still holding fast to his belief of his insignificance, but he was met with an awkward silence.
“Right?” He demanded.
The angels shifted awkwardly and avoided eye contact. Yeah, that’s not a good sign.
Rachel snorted at the other angels’ continued silence. “Castiel regards you above all others. You are his ‘friend’,” she sneered, her nose wrinkling unpleasantly. “He considers a move against you as a move against him. Despite your continued existence,” again with the nose wrinkle, “Castiel may still choose to retaliate.”
“Okay, no. You gotta tell him not to do that.” He wasn’t important, certainly not enough to go to war over. They had to tell him not to because it’s not like he’d listen to Dean what with the radio silence and the sic-ing angels on him in passive aggressive overprotectiveness.
“It is not our place to question Castiel!” Rachel snapped. Her wings flapped angrily and Dean was pushed back against his pillows as their gale force winds buffeted him. Hester, Inias, and Alfie all looked like they were about to jump between them, but Rachel ignored them.
“He is our Leader. We are his to command. We do not tell him what to do!” She hissed and Dean was starting to get angry and defensive. There was only so much he could take and getting yelled at by a bitch with wings just about topped his limit of angelic shit for the day.
“Alright, sister, that’s not what I was-”
“I am not your sister and you need to learn your place.”
Oh no she di’in’! “Just who do you think you are, bitch?” He demanded.
“I am Castiel’s friend!” She shouted. Her face contorted with righteous fury.
“And you think I’m not?” Dean yelled indignantly.
Rachel hissed at him and her wings arched high behind her like a pissed off cat with its back up. “I think you only call to him when you need something.”
Okay, now Dean was freaking ticked. “Screw you, lady! I haven’t asked Cas for shit.”
“Yet you throw his angels at danger like we’re at your beck and call!” A scathing snarl curled her lips.
That hit painfully below the belt. The memory of a bleeding dying Alfie was still raw on his conscience and he was just done.
“Listen, you fucking winged bitch-”
“You petty, entitled little piece of-”
“Enough!”
The room was shocked into silence. Dean gritted his teeth, his face flushed with anger. Rachel balanced on the balls of her feet looking ready to spring.
Alfie appeared between them standing in the line of fire consequently cutting a large chunk out of the violence filling the air. Everyone just breathed taking in deep gulps of air trying to slow their hearts down.
Hester and Inias slowly un-tensed no longer ready to lunge into action should Rachel launch an attack. Dean sank back down into his pillows, the wind sucked from his sails. He was suddenly painfully exhausted. Rachel took a step back, straightened her posture, and smoothing her expression.
When he was sure that there wasn’t going to be any bloodshed, Samandriel turned to Rachel. “Thank you, Sister. We are grateful to you for healing Dean.”
Rachel gave him a stiff nod, her eyes averted from Dean. Apparently she’d decided to just ignore that he was even in the room. Fine by him.
She turned and nodded to Hester and Inias as well. “Bothers, Sister, I will return to my duties.” She was gone before any of them could say anything else.
*
With Nurse Ratched fucked off back to Heaven, Dean couldn’t keep himself awake and coherent anymore. He was fully ready to collapse and pass out. He didn’t even wait long enough to find out what his angels were going to do now that he wasn’t on Death’s RSVP list. It felt pretty damned good to just let go and forget for a little while.
Probably hours later, Dean grudgingly swam back to consciousness and let out a groan. His entire body was sore; less good workout sore and more got your ass royally kicked sore. He didn’t know if the pain was from the smack down he’d gotten from Jogger Angel or if it was some left over crap from the assassin poison or what. All he knew or cared about was that he was in some relatively large (though not life threating) amounts of pain.
Steadying his breathing, Dean took stock of himself. His profusely bleeding wounds all seemed to be healed and not hemorrhaging his life’s blood all over Lisa’s grandmother’s quilt anymore. Which was good, because Dean didn’t fancy being poisoned again, just this time by an enraged ex instead of a dick angel.
The angels hadn’t thought to clean him up so, while he wasn’t bleeding anymore, he was still caked in an itchy sticky layer of blood and gravel. It was unpleasant and that wasn’t even counting the still throbbing ache in every single one of his joints from his fingers to his toes.
His eyes squinted open and he stared at the ceiling as he finished his bodily inventory. The only not sucky part of waking up was the fact that he had actually woken up; the warm press of Ben’s forehead against his bicep wasn’t too bad either. His neck throbbing Dean moved as little as possible to look down at the boy curled up in a ball face relaxed in an exhausted sleep. Dean’s heart swelled in his chest and his pain lessened just the littlest bit despite the asshole midget beating on his brain like bongo drums.
The more coherent he got the more his body seemed to wake up too. Twitching his toes Dean became aware of a heavy warm thing lying across his shins and pressed along his leg. Lifting his pounding head, Dean huffed an amused breath when he saw Errol taking up the entire bottom half of the bed. The boy had his face shoved uncomfortably against Dean’s left ankle drool dripping down the corner of his slack mouth making a wet patch on Dean’s pant leg. Errol had stretched out as much as he could his chest leaning heavy against Dean’s left leg with an arm thrown over his shins.
The warmth radiating from the two little space heaters invading his personal space was embarrassingly comforting and Dean couldn’t help the fact that his shriveled up Grinch heart had just grown like five sizes. Seriously, one of these days his kids were going to make it jump right out of his chest like a gruesome parody of a cartoon.
“They refused to leave your side until you had awoken.”
The unexpected voice from his right had Dean jumping to reach for a weapon to defend himself and his charges. His body seized up and all he could do was curse under his breath and bite down on his lip until it bled.
“Jesus Christ, Inias!” Dean hissed as he finally got control of his abused body and turned to look at the angel perched on his chest of drawers. He watched Dean like it was completely not weird for an insanely powerful creature older than dirt to be sitting next to spare change and crumpled receipts. “Warn a guy or something, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Ignoring Dean’s blaspheme, Inias’ head cocked to the side and a curious frown wrinkled at his brow. “I don’t believe you were in cardiac distress. Rachel assured us your body was almost entirely healed.”
Dean snorted and didn’t bother to explain it was a figure of speech. He was in too much fucking pain for that. “So if I’m all stitched up why does it feel like someone took a grinder saw to my bones?”
“The Innocent’s Bane has been purged, but the symptoms linger. It’ll take some time to fade,” Inias said. “You should be fine in a couple of days.”
“Awesome.” Dean stared back at the ceiling and closed his eyes breathing through a heavy wave of aching. The pain had already started to fade, but if had a ways to go. He was not looking forward to the rest of the process.
“Ben and Errol love you very much.”
The non sequitur made Dean look back at the angel with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, random much?”
Inias ignored him and continued, “Ben loves you because you are the father he has always dreamed of and Errol loves you because you give him the stability and attention he has been deprived. You are lucky to be alive.”
Dean shifted awkwardly in the bed trying not to jostle his body or his boys. He lamented the fact he couldn’t run from a conversation sure to be chocked full of warm squishy feelings and chick-flick moments. Unfortunately, he knew it was unavoidable so he’d just have to suck it up and be honest for once.
“I love them, too,” with his boys pressed against him radiating warmth into his chest and his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to be flippant. “But what does that have to do with not dying again?”
An indecipherable expression flitted across Inias’ face, but it was gone in a blink. Dean didn’t even have a chance to try and decipher it before the angel gave a relatively human shrug. (He’d been practicing with Alfie, but he didn’t know that Dean knew that.)
“The ability to live and love are both very powerful aspects of Free Will.”
Thanks for clearing that up, Colonel Cryptic. Dean didn’t bother trying to get a straight answer out of him after that and he chose not to ask about the capitalization on free will. He was done with this angelic nonsense for a few days. He’s earned it.
“Where are Hester and Alfie? I didn’t imagine them verbally bitch slapping that Rachel chick over my death bed, did I?”
Inias, in an unconscious imitation of Dean, chose not to address the last half of his query. “They were reluctant to leave as well wanting to hold vigil until you awoke, but it was unavoidable. Castiel has need of them in Heaven. The upheaval caused by Raphael’s attempt on you can’t be ignored.”
The knowledge that two of Dean’s favorite stalkers didn’t want to leave him made the warm and cuddlies in his chest multiply, but the feeling was quickly forgotten with the reminder of the shit storm brewing up in Heaven.
A stone settled in his gut and Dean demanded, “Tell me Cas didn’t start a civil war just because the teenage mutant ninja angel tried to off me.”
Inias’ face was blank. “I do not understand that-”
“Tell me I didn’t start a war.” Dean demanded not in the mood to indulge in a lesson in pop culture.
“War has not begun, but tensions are volatile,” Inias finally answered. “The only reason the War Horn hasn’t been sounded is because Castiel is still trying to reason with the opposition and reach an understanding. Raphael is instigating strife at every turn and a small number of skirmishes have broken out, but so far there have been no further casualties.”
Dean breathed. Itching started up beneath his skin as the enormity of the situation Cas was stuck in hit him.
“That does not sound good. I thought Cas was the new sheriff in town. God recharged health bar and a nice new power boost to go with it.”
Inais looked down at his feet dangling an inch off the floor. “Father did not decree that Castiel shall Lead the angels. He granted us Free Will and many of us have freely chosen to follow Castiel.” He paused and seemed to chew on his next words. “Raphael is opposed to Castiel’s teachings of tolerance and understanding. He works to gather followers and restart the Apocalypse. Many of our brothers have chosen to follow the Archangel in his pursuit of Paradise. The Host is divided and struggling with the rapid deterioration of the command structure.”
Dean blew out a heavy breath and watched Inias while he processed the angel’s words. He was reminded of Hester and the day he’d met her. She’d been a hot mess, confused and overwhelmed and drowning in the new and unknown. At least she’d decided to come to him for help. (Or stalk him until he’d noticed and made her accept his help.) Dean didn’t want to guess at how many angels there were cloud-hopping up in Heaven, but there had to be a lot more angels just like Hester and not all of them would turn to Castiel and his camp for help.
Fear of change and the unknown were never a pretty combination. Add super powered self-righteous douchebags with wings to the equation and it was a recipe for disaster.
“Well, shit.” Dean lifted a heavy, sore, but once again mildly functioning hand and scrubbed at his face. “So Heaven is in the middle of a cold war and Cas is stuck keeping both sides from going nuclear.”
Inias nodded. “Heaven is on the brink of war and your attempted assassination was a deliberate move against Castiel,” he reiterated. “It cannot go unanswered regardless of whether he wants to pursue it or not. At this point war is inevitable, he can only stall as long as possible.”
“Fuck.” He growled angrily. Raphael had been a massive dick when they’d butterfly netted his ass and apparently he’d gotten worse.
Ben snuffled in his sleep seeming to respond to the tension in the air and, glancing down at him briefly, Dean suddenly realized that Inias was down here chatting it up with Dean while he should be upstairs helping Cas.
“What are you doing watching me sleep like a creeper? You should be up upstairs helping Cas!” He demanded struggling to rise into a sitting position regardless of his kid sized limpets and his sluggishly healing body. Inias should be preparing to storm the beaches with his brothers not watching Dean recover from the fainting vapors.
There and gone, a flash of surprise lifted Inias’ eyebrows as he slid down from his perch on the dresser. “I was ordered to watch over you.” He explained, bewildered in the face of Dean’s vehemence. “Hester, Samandriel, and Rachel are assisting Castiel prepare for battle.”
Yeah, not good enough. Dean gritted his teeth against the churning need in his gut to march his way into Heaven and kick some douchebag angel ass himself. He couldn’t though, so he had to settle for chasing his angel nursemaid home.
“Screw your orders and get your feathery ass up there and help Cas.” Dean ordered and blissfully ignored his hypocrisy.
Inias didn’t seem too pleased with the suggestion to shirk his duties. “My Commander has said I will watch over you. I will not disobey him.”
Dean pressed on. “You said it yourself; war is coming. Would you rather be down here sitting on your ass or up there making sure your friends live through this?”
Inias was quiet, a rare flash of something like reluctance and indecision flittered through Inias’ eyes and his storm cloud wings twitched. Dean’s words were circling through his mind. He wanted to be with his brothers, to help them, but was he willing to test Castiel’s forgiveness of his disobedience?
The angel’s thoughts were clear as day to Dean as if they were scrolling across his forehead like a ticker tape. “If Cas gets angry with you, tell him I told you to go. Tell him to take it up with me.”
It was instantaneous, Dean’s words made Inias’ hesitations and fears dissipated like smoke. He straightened up like the soldier he was his expression filled with determination.
Meeting the eyes of the man that dared give God’s angel’s orders, Inias spread his wings. “Thank you, Dean Winchester. I will not fail my brothers.”
A gust of wind, a displacement of air and the angel was gone.
Sinking into the bed like his fraying strings had been cut Dean blew out a heavy anxious breath. He glanced down at the two boys pressed warm and safe against him and felt the constant ball of worry and protectiveness throb inside him.
Alfie, Hester, Inias, Cas; his angels, his friends were going to march into war and Dean couldn’t do a damn thing to help.
Castiel, you better ask me for help when you need it. Anything, man, I’ll do it. Don’t you fucking dare stay radio silent, Cas. I will kick your ass.
The prayer slammed into Castiel like a ton of lead bricks and he knew that he couldn’t avoid Dean any longer.
*
End.
Author: alexjanna91
Fandom: Supernatural
Pairing: Dean, Castiel, Inais, Hester, Alfie, [Spoiler]Rachel
Series: Apple Pie Life
Rating: PG13
Genre: Canon Divergence post Season 5
Word Count: 8,473
Warning: Violence, Season 6 References, Mild Angst, Angels, BAMF Dean, Powers Dean, True Forms
Summary: He just wanted to go to the grocery store. He definitely didn't want to reenact West Side Story in an abandoned parking lot.
A/N: Part of my Patron Saint arc, second in my Apple Pie Life verse.
*
Life has been going relatively smoothly for Dean. The angels still not-so-covertly stalked him and Dean’s kids still ran around like a chickens with their heads cut off. His frequent angel visitor roster grew from just Alfie to Inias and, sometimes, Hester.
Alfie was still innocent and enthusiastic in his attempts to appear more human. Inias was still unceasingly curious. He seemed to be trying to learn absolutely everything he can about the world through the kids’ eyes. Hester, still aloof and standoffish, was starting to look hesitantly fond and mildly indulgent when she observed the kids; from a reasonable distance, of course.
Lisa was still Dean’s ex/land lord/awkward friend. She liked to watch while Dean was overrun by miniature people and laugh at his expense. Ben was still the closest thing to a son Dean was likely to ever have and he loved the kid all the more for it. Errol still mostly lived with the Braedens and had become just as much a part of their unorthodox and piecemeal family as Dean.
To top off Dean’s domestication he was now verbally acknowledged friends with a cop and had an antagonistically fond rapport with his partner. Plus, he could now legally (sort of) carry his Colt 1911 hidden under his jacket.
His life was stable and consistent. He had a home, a job, a makeshift family, and hadn’t had to kill anything evil in months. Regardless of how weird it still was (Winchester is synonymous with weird) his life was the most societally acceptable definition of normal it had ever been.
So, naturally, Fate had to throw a big, fat, dick shaped wrench in the works. What a bitch.
*
If Dean knew what would await him today he wouldn’t have gotten out bed. It wasn’t like they needed food that badly. Their kitchen totally didn’t resemble a grocery store the day after Thanksgiving. They could totally live off crackers and the dregs of a forgotten tub of peanut butter until tomorrow.
Okay so they couldn’t. Dean got out of bed, climbed into the Impala and drove down to the grocery store.
His cart (sadly it was the only one left and it squeaked like a dying squirrel) was half full with actual food and everything was just a normal Sunday of errands he had to run. After groceries he was going to stop by the hardware store and pick up the gaskets he needed to fix the disposal. It was making weird noises and there was no way he was doing dishes without it.
Holy God, he really was getting domesticated. If Dean wasn’t the closest to content he’d ever been in his entire life he would have been more devastated by this realization, but since he had a kitchen to restock and innumerable growing mouths to feed snacks to he pushed it all to the back of his mind.
Later, he would curl up in a corner with a bottle of whiskey and cry one perfect tear while he mourned the steady deterioration of his badass hunter cred and the inevitable loss of his man card.
But, for now, he was perusing the frozen food aisle for those mini pizza popper things and was gearing up to brave the ice-cream section. So many kids with so many requests. The hardest part was keeping the quantity reasonable while still satisfying everyone. A near impossible task, but Dean had become a master at it.
He was just about to reach into the freezer and snag a bucket of chunky monkey when a wave of pure malice made him cringe. Dean knew that if he closed the freezer door and looked down to the end of the aisle there would be an angel giving him such a massive stink eye he should really be a smoldering pile of ash in the middle of the frozen food section. He hadn’t felt anything like it since he’d shanked Zachariah through to chin.
It was hard to believe that the beings that everyone thought were God’s little fluffy winged do-gooders would try to kill someone just with the power of their mind. Which they actually could, but Dean had never been more thankful for being in a crowded grocery store in his life. The apocalypse was over, the world was back to normal (or a variation there of) and there were no inexplicable natural phenomenon to explain away a giant crater in front of the ice-cream freezer. Even the dicks with wings knew better than to smite someone in such a public place now.
Regardless of the attempt at subtlety, the hairs on the back of Dean’s neck still felt a little singed.
Letting the freezer door swing closed he looked toward the source of the waves of anger and hate. A figure so big is shouldn’t even be able to fit, two rings of flame around its thighs, three pairs of wings like flurries and gusts of snow, two faces of a blank mask and a white fox. Dean blinked and saw a tall black man in jogging shorts and a muscle shirt with an mp3 player still fastened to his arm standing at the end of the aisle. He was watching Dean like a fox watches a rabbit.
Any kind of confrontation would be a bad idea in a grocery store, so Dean turned away from his malevolent stalker and calmly pushed his squeaky cart down the opposite end of the aisle. He turned the corner paused for a moment his hands clenched around the handlebar white knuckled and took a steadying breath before he continued on with his Sunday shopping. Let it never be said that stalling wasn’t a viable battle strategy.
He was in a grocery store with nothing on him, but a flask of holy water, four knives, and his Colt; none of which will do anything to an angel except piss it off. The only chance he had was to stall as long as possible and hope the ridiculously angry angel just wanted to glare menacingly and will have flown off by the time he got to the cash register. If it was still following him the only chance he had of surviving the inevitable fight was to make it to his car and grab the angel sword he had in the trunk.
It was the same sword he’d used to kill Zachariah. He’d kept it since it had actually worked for him and Dean liked to hoard any and all weaponry he came across like they were toilet paper.
A pimply teenager rang him up and bagged his groceries with all the cans in one bag, the eggs underneath the ice-cream, and the sandwich meat sandwiched between the bananas and the cucumbers. Dean was too focused on the raging winged ball of rage still hovering behind him like a really terrifying shadow to pay much attention.
The angel stalked him out the doors, through the parking lot, and to the impala where it seemed to tire of following on foot and took to the air. It disappeared out of Dean’s range of awareness and he shifted from completely calm and oblivious errand runner to calm and disciplined hunter.
The groceries were thrown in the backseat with little care a second before Dean had the trunk open and the weapons locker lid propped up. He grabbed the blessed glass bottle of what little holy oil he had left, shoved another lighter in his pocket, and sheathed the gleaming angel sword inside his jacket. The Impala was revved up and pulling out of the parking lot in less than three minutes.
Dean turned down the street and toward the hardware store like he had planned. There were plenty of alleys, parking lots, and vacant lots that didn’t get much foot traffic or didn’t have direct sightlines onto major roads.
Just as he spotted an adequate battle ground, Dean realized that it might be a good idea to pray to his non-psycho or potentially violent stalkers.
Alright guys. I hope y’all have your ears on because there’s an angel on my tail and he doesn’t seem very happy with me. A little back up would be mightily appreciated.
That was as far as he got before he was turning into a relatively empty parking lot flanked on two sides by empty storefronts with a warehouse at its back. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave Dean space to maneuver; which he would definitely need when the angel inevitably came down to kick his ass. It would be harder for the angel to corner him and it was deserted except for a lone late-nineties Corolla with mismatched passenger doors and a for sale sign written in permanent marker taped to the windshield.
Dean was okay with that potential collateral damage.
He parked the Impala off to the side and got out. He was as prepared and armed as he was going to get and he just hoped he could hold out long enough for one of his angel buddies to save his ass.
Standing in the middle of the potholed and oil stained parking lot Dean spread his arms and shouted at the sky.
“Come on, you son of a bitch! I’m waiting!”
“Dean Winchester.”
Spinning around Dean saw his stalker had arrived. The angel’s dark face was absolutely expressionless. Balanced on the balls of its feet, sword already in hand, its borrowed body stiff and unyielding, frozen at attention like a toy soldier. Its gaze unwaveringly fastened on Dean.
Yeah, this was definitely going to suck.
“That’s my name don’t wear it out.” Dean responded with a grin like a bearing of teeth.
Apparently the angel wasn’t amused. Its blank face didn’t even twitch, but it seemed to just get even more pissed off; if that was even possible.
“So which winged dick are you?” Dean asked after a long strained pause.
The angel’s expression finally changed. Its upper lip curled in a sneer. “My name is not to be sullied by the ears of a parasite like you.”
Dean’s eyebrows rose and he whistled. “Tell us how you really feel.”
The angel took that as permission to monologue. It continued speaking like Dean hadn’t said anything.
“Angels had purpose, we had a path, but now,” its sneer grew into a snarl, “now you have destroyed all that we have worked towards.”
The angel began to glow as it worked itself up. “The apocalypse was our way to Paradise! It was to be our reward for following God’s greatest plan.”
Dean didn’t even see it move, but suddenly the angel’s arm was raised and its sword was pointed directly at him. He tensed, but held his position as he stared down the blade like it was the barrel of a gun.
“Now there is no rest, no paradise, no reward. Michael and Lucifer are lost to us locked in the Cage and you and your abomination of a brother have destroyed everything!”
Monologue about how the mean and terrible Dean smashed your toys all you want, but no one talks about Sammy like that.
“Hey, douche bag! Are you going to talk me to death or are we going to get this show on the road!” Dean growled. The angel sword was in his hand before the thought finished forming in his mind. It pulsed against his palm in time with his heartbeat then it settled into a low continuous hum like solid electricity clenched in his fist.
Jogger Angel shifted into a fighting stance, no movement wasted, no hesitation. Dean planted his feet and hoped like hell his angels would come and save him real soon. This was not going to end well.
“You will die and Raphael will bring us the apocalypse.”
Dean didn’t have time to register the implications of that because the angel was moving faster than any supernatural fugly he’d ever fought before. Its wings twitching minutely were the only warning Dean got and he was diving to the side a blink before the angel slashed where his head had just been.
Rolling with his momentum, Dean came up in a crouch and brought his sword up just in time to block a decapitating blow. The angel blinked once in surprise then its face was a picture of battle fury and their swords unlocked with a sharp twist.
Gritting his teeth against the pain in his wrist from the sharp jerk, Dean was on his feet and blocking another stab almost too late.
The sword’s tip was an inch from his belly when Dean shoved upward sending it off course. The angel didn’t let the awkward angle of its sword suddenly thrusting into the sky slow him down. It brought its elbow down on Dean’s shoulder. He felt the bone crack before he could jump out of range.
Shoving the agony to the back of his mind, Dean turned to the side avoiding the angel’s stab then slashed up and to the right. Jogger Angel let out a grunt of shock that rattled the loose gravel on the ground as it backed off for a moment. There was a crooked seeping line of blood and blinding white grace across its chest.
The angel looked up from its chest and Dean’s heart sped up painfully. The look in its eyes was deadly. It was going to stop playing now. Dean had drawn first blood and suddenly the kiddy gloves were off.
This time there was no warning. Dean gasped in surprise when a slash appeared across his chest to match the angel’s. Spinning around, Dean was just barely fast enough to avoid getting stabbed in the kidney but not fast enough to keep from getting sliced cross his ribcage almost vivisecting him.
Okay, now he was not only in deep shit, but he was fucking drowning in it. Where the hell were his little winged stalkers when he needed them!
The angel slashed and stabbed and thrust its sword into and at Dean. It gave no quarter and Dean was sporting a slice from wrist to elbow on his sword arm, a nice sword shaped hole in his opposite shoulder, a few broken ribs, and what he was pretty sure was a punctured lung. This fight had to end fast if Dean had any hope of living, or at least dying with all his limbs intact.
He was too pretty to die dismembered!
Dean blocked another overhand thrust, his arms trembling with the effort to hold his sword steady against the strength of the angel. He had one last idea. A Hail Mary he’d figured he wouldn’t live long enough to use. Seeing as he was bleeding, but not dead yet, it looked like it was time to use that last shot.
With a sudden surge of energy, Dean shoved and dislodged the angel’s sword from his own. The angel slid back a few yards with the force of the move, its vessel’s running shoes making tracks in the asphalt. Dean had the bottle of holy oil in his hand with the cork popped as he tossed himself forward.
He skidded on his knees across the gravel closing the gap between him and the angel. Sweeping his arm in wide arc upward, Dean aimed for the flaming rings circling the angel’s thighs. He didn’t stop moving as he flicked his Bic and tossed it.
It flew true and suddenly the angel was shrieking in agony as its legs and waist went up like a college bonfire.
Clawing at the pavement trying to stop his forward momentum, Dean’s knees went out from under him and he was skidding on his hip and side. He didn’t stop in time and hit the angel’s flaming shins. Scrabbling away, Dean stumbled back to his feet only a little singed, the back of his legs burning where his jeans had been flash fried away.
The angel was shrieking and screaming flailing futilely trying to put out the flames. Every pane of glass in a square block shattered with a sound like an iceberg splitting in two. Dean’s ears were aching like they were about to explode, but he didn’t waste any time worrying about his eardrums. His sword was in his hand and he was lunging.
The angel opened its eyes and looked Dean in his. It was like staring into blindingly bright spot lights, he was sure his eyes would burst into flames it hurt so bad, but Dean didn’t look away. He didn’t look away when he killed Azaezel, when he killed The Whore, when he killed Zachariah. And he wouldn’t look away when he killed this nameless angel.
It looked into his eyes, fear and fury reflected in the glaring light of its gaze and it screamed.
Dean thrust his sword down putting all his strength and weight behind it. The blade stabbed the burning angel in its chest piercing its vessel’s heart. His gaze was locked on the angel’s like they were Krazy Glued and he watched as the expressionless humanoid face was the first to explode.
One after another its fox head, its melting scorched rings, its body all disintegrated like the blast from an atomic bomb. The last to go were its six wings. The shock wave was enough to jolt Dean into yanking his sword free and finally breaking eye contact.
When he was steady on his feet again, bloodied sword clutched in his hand, Dean blinked away the spots and looked down at the tall black man in his jogging shorts and muscle shirt sprawled on the torn up asphalt of the parking lot. His eyes were unseeing pointed at the sky and his shattered mp3 player was scattered on the ground next to his arm. The ashy remains of two wings stretched across the lot from end to end.
Dean was bleeding and aching and barely standing straight. His left shoulder was a mess, his right arm looked like an emo teenager had gone to town, his back and chest felt like they’d been filleted (or a facsimile there of since he actually knew how being filleted felt), and his lungs gurgled alarmingly when he breathed.
Regardless of being amazingly alive, he was walking wounded and literally ten minutes away from passing out in the middle of a crime scene.
He stooped and picked up the angel’s sword only mildly surprised that he didn’t fall on his face trying to get back up. Dragging himself back to the impala he couldn’t dredge up enough energy to be pissed about the shattered windows or the melted ice-cream and cracked eggs on his leather seats. Tossing the angel swords on top of the bananas and cucumbers, Dean collapsed behind the wheel and started the engine.
He lost a pint of blood on the drive home and barely managed to pull into the driveway and put his baby in park before he lost consciousness.
*
Dean didn’t so much as regain consciousness as he was suddenly aware of the voices discussing him. Unfortunately he was unable to do much more than lay there in massive agony. He couldn’t even make himself groan in pain since his body was practically paralyzed and his energy was spent on not going under again while trying to concentrate on the conversation going on around him.
He said conversation, but from what Dean could understand through the haze of semi-consciousness and continuous pain, it sounded more like three angels squabbling about the doubt of his continued survival.
“We need to do something. He will not be able to continue on like this much longer.” Alfie sounded worried and -Dean would never say it to the baby angel’s face- like a lost little kid.
“There is nothing more we can do to heal him, Samandriel. None of us are a skilled healer and the poison in Dean’s wounds is far beyond even most of the Host’s healers.”
Inias, for the first time since Dean had met him, was darkly grave, his voice completely devoid of its natural light curiosity.
“This will not be the end of our efforts,” Hester snapped. “Dean Winchester will not fall to an assassin’s dishonorable tricks.”
Oh, Hester sounded pissed. She must be really freaked. The aloof angel almost never showed more emotion then distant interest and vague indulgence her nervous breakdown notwithstanding. He really hoped she wasn’t getting ready to have another one. He wouldn’t be able to help her this time since he was kind of half comatose at the moment.
“What more would you suggest, Sister?” Inias bit back betraying the fact that he was just as affected by their apparent helplessness as Hester.
Yeah, Dean thought distantly as he continued to listen to his angels snap and snarl above him, he was definitely fucked.
“We could summon one of the Rit Zien.” Alfie cut in before the other two angels could keep snapping at each other. He sounded painfully hopeful, like he prayed more than believed that it could be a solution. Dean’s chest ached with Alfie’s fear and desperation.
Hester hissed scornfully. “Rit Zien know nothing of human pain. They would rend him down to the molecules the moment they appeared.” She felt so much helpless anger Dean was distracted from the conversation as he almost choked on it. Trying to think through the feeling of his throat tightening unable to move to relieve it, he distantly remembered that Ephraim, the angel that healed Alfie, had called himself a rizzen or however you say it.
“Hester is right,” Inias spoke up when Alfie was about to argue. “Rit Zien are out of the question, but Dean still needs the hands of an expert healer if he is to live.”
“The Healers have almost all chosen to stand with Raphael and the few that are loyal to Castiel are not capable of battling the taint in his blood.” Hester said, frustration making her grit her teeth. “None that are capable would defy Raphael, not even to save Dean Winchester’s life.”
His full name, Dean thought muzzily; the angels kept saying his full name like it meant something. If he wasn’t dying while three freaked out angels argued about it, he would have paid it a bit more attention.
“There is one trained under Raphael that is loyal to Castiel.” Inias said.
There was a moment of silence that had Dean concentrating hard on the discussion. He didn’t want to miss a word especially since it was his ass on the line if this new plan didn’t pan out.
“You cannot be serious.” Hester did not sound enthused. Not reassuring
“She is the only one loyal to Castiel with the power to combat the poison.” Inias pressed.
“Loyal to Castiel she may be, but she has no great love of humans. She does not share his, or our, respect for Father’s creations.” Dean decided that Hester’s argument made this Florance Nighten-angel seem like even more of a long shot. Then again, Dean’s batting 1-0 with long shots so far and this chick sounded like his best bet.
“She will not heal a human man, not even one such as Dean Winchester, but she will heal him because Castiel regards him above all other humans.” Inias sounded pretty damn sure of that and even though Dean didn’t understand about half of his reasoning. Either way he was going to take it.
There was a pause as if each of his angels was weighing Inias’ assessment of this new angel. Alfie was the one that broke the silence.
“Rachel is our only option.” He was deadly serious in a way Dean had never heard before. His decision was final and he would tolerate no argument. “Summon her.”
*
When the sound of wings fluttering into the room followed on the heels of Alfie’s order Dean wasn’t surprised. Despite the pain and the current inevitability of his demise, he was still listening in on the drama happening outside of his gray haze of semi-consciousness.
The angel’s presence flowed over him and he recognized her; it was one of his angel stalkers. He’d seen her -impossibly large, two flaming gold rings around her neck and wrist, the faces of a mask and an eagle, and three pairs of gale force winds for wings- she was dressed in a librarian. Or at least that’s what Dean figured considering her vessel’s shapeless skirt, frumpy cardigan, and ugly black utilitarian shoes. Hell, she even had reading glasses hanging around her neck and a half bun so tight it looked like it had squeezed all the fun out of her.
“Why have you summoned me down here?” She demanded and, yeah, she sounded like an angry librarian. “You have called me away from my duties.”
“Sister, Dean Winchester is mortally wounded. You are the only angel with the power to heal him.” Alfie said his voice was once again laced with worry and youthful hope.
Rachel sniffed. “There are more important things to be concerned with than an injured human. Castiel is attempting to negotiate a détente with Raphael’s followers. If the balance is shifted it could mean civil war and you three are down here shirking your duties,” she said scathingly.
Whoa, wait a minute. Civil war?! Dean didn’t have time to start freaking out about that, though, because the conversation continued.
“War is almost inevitable.” Hester snarled. “Raphael sic-ed an assassin on Dean Winchester and now the Righteous Man lies dying.”
“The lives of thousands of our brothers no longer rest on the shoulders of one human,” Rachel retorted with a hissy snap.
Dean knew that regardless of what all the porn would have you believe an angelic cat fight breaking out in his room wouldn’t be any kind of fun and would only end in major property damage. Or, you know, a smoldering crater in the middle of Indiana, it’s a tossup.
“Dean Winchester is no mere human, Rachel. You have witnessed this just as we have.” Inias broke in before Hester could go for the eyes. “Even if he were just a man, Castiel would not let an attack on him go unanswered. Dean Winchester or not, this is a declaration of war.”
Well, that is unsettling. Ignoring all the freaky implications of his supposed importance, Dean was getting majorly concerned. Angels throwing around the words civil and war could only mean shit was about to get seriously real.
When Rachel responded, she didn’t sound very pleased. “I will heal him,” she finally capitulated sounding like the words tasted bad. “I will heal him because Castiel values him above all other humans and would go to war for his death. And I am loyal to our commander,” she added accusingly, audibly sneering and Dean just knew there was some epic angel bitch-face being thrown around.
The next thing he knew the angel was next to his bed her palm hovering over the jagged slash across his chest. There was a humming in the air like an electronic buzz and then Rachel hissed in disgust.
“The Innocent’s Bane,” she muttered scathingly as she moved her hand over Dean’s wounds, “Cowardly.” Nothing happened to ease the immense pain keeping Dean locked in a semi-conscious paralytic limbo until Rachel’s hand hovered over the gaping hole in his shoulder.
Suddenly, everything was beyond agonizing and Dean stopped paying attention to the outside world altogether. He was too busy trying not to explode from the inside out. Arching off the bed with a howl he just knew he was on Death’s doorstep with his fist raised to knock.
Leaching the poison, Dean thought muzzily the sound of his own screams deafening him. She was yanking out the assassin’s poison one molecule at a time. God, it hurt so fucking bad, like digging out buckshot with a dull spoon. Dean almost wished the fucking angel assassin had finished him off in that parking lot.
Dean lost track of time while he writhed in pain, it felt like it went on for years. Then as abruptly as it started it just stopped and he was left gagging on the air flooding into his lungs, his entire body shaking like he’d been electrocuted.
“Son of a bitch,” he gasped then he heaved. Hands grabbed his shoulders and yanked him onto his side a split second before he was spewing blood and breakfast onto Lisa’s unfortunately cream colored carpet.
“The nausea will pass.”
“Awesome,” Dean gagged one last time then Rachel shoved him onto his back. “What the fuck?”
His blurry eyes slivered open and Dean got a front row seat to Rachel’s scowl. “You were poisoned.”
Dean groaned. “Yeah, I got that.” He fought through the residual pain, struggled to sit up and forced himself to speak. “I meant, what the hell is going on? I’m tripping on feathered stalkers, everything’s just peachy, then suddenly Jogger Angel is trying to shank me in the kidneys, my stalkers are MIA, and ‘civil war’ is being thrown around like confetti.” He finished with a surprised cough; he hadn’t realized he’d been yelling until his abused throat started to ache. Whoa, okay, guess he was angrier than he thought. “Seriously! What the hell?”
Now that he didn’t have one foot in the grave all his meager brain power was spent on getting answers and being pissed.
Collapsing back against the pillows with a huff, he was one part exhaustion, one part outrage, and one part not wanting to see the angelic kicked puppy faces and big worried watery chibi anime eyes his angels were pointing at him.
Yes, he’s seen some anime. There were tentacles… Don’t judge.
Despite his need for answers his body was continuing to tremor with the after effects of his angelic poison leaching and his skin had broken out in a cold sweat. Dean didn’t think he could lift his arms much less get up and walk. Being angry didn’t seem to be helping. He took a deep breath and willed himself to be calm as he tried to organize his thoughts.
“Alright,” he opened his eyes and turned to look at his angels. “From the top, tell me what happened.”
Surprisingly, Hester spoke first. “Raphael sent an assassin to kill you and the lily-livered sapsucker poisoned you with Innocent’s Bane!”
The lightbulb in the lamp on the bedside table exploded and Dean admitted that he was a little impressed. Hester was always pretty contained and controlled with her power -when she wasn’t about explode like a nuke-, but apparently asshole assassins with dirty tricks really ticked her off, though thankfully not enough to start actually smiting things.
Dean grinned. “Kitty got claws.”
Hester tilted her head and frowned in confusion. “I am an angel, not a cat.”
“I know. It was just a - you know what, never mind.” Dean sighed long-suffering. “Okay, I remember Jogger Angel and getting my ass kicked. I could hear while I was playing coma patient number four and I pretty much got the gist of the slow acting deadly poison-”
“It was not slow acting. You should have died almost immediately,” Rachel interrupted.
“I’m going to ignore that,” Dean said then promptly ignored it.
“-and the appearance of Doctor Rachel, Medicine Angel,” he continued. “What I don’t get is why Jogger Angel Assassin tried to kill me and why no one came when I called.”
His expression was harsh and three of the four angels in the room flushed. He didn’t even know angels could flush, but there they were.
“We tried, Dean.” Alfie insisted frustrated and angry with himself, ashamed of his failure. Dean softened at the glaringly apparent emotions stamped across the angel’s face. He couldn’t stay angry with his angels anyway, especially not when it was clear they were just as angry as he was that they weren’t there to help him.
He gave Alfie a reassuring nod. “I believe you, but then what happened?”
“The area was warded against outside interference. Your battle was over before we could break through.” Inias explained relaxing now that none of Dean’s anger was pointed at them despite being angry with the situation himself. “We should have been able to dismantle them sooner, but the wards were too strong.”
Dean’s gut sank with the implications. “So, it was planned. He didn’t just decide to be a dick and rid Raphael of this troublesome human.” Why couldn’t it ever just be an angel being a damn dick? “The Arch-asshole Raphael was in on it.”
“It was a sanctioned assassination.” Hester confirmed angrily.
“I still don’t get why anyone would assassinate me or even why assassination is even a thing. What the hell is happening up there?”
He decided to keep ignoring the confusing way the angels insisted on full naming and talking like he was important. He was going to keep on ignoring that until he couldn’t anymore. Standard Winchester procedure.
“I thought Cas had all your dick brothers in check.”
His angels all traded speaking looks unsubtly trying to decide just how much they should tell him. Oh yeah, some shit was going down and Dean didn’t appreciate the insinuation that he didn’t deserve full disclosure. He’d almost been killed for fuck sake, like hell he was getting the redacted version.
He scowled at them. “Somebody, please, enlighten me.”
“Raphael is attempting to destabilize Castiel by eliminating you and thus starting a civil war in Heaven.” Apparently Rachel had gotten tired of all the avoidance.
“That!” Dean snapped his fingers and pointed at her. “Explain that.”
“The Archangel Raphael is leading a faction of angels that seek to restart the Apocalypse and achieve Paradise.” Inias explained reluctantly. “Castiel is keeping violence at a minimum. There is a suspension of hostilities, but it’s precarious.”
Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, he was getting a headache. “So I’m stuck in the middle of an angelic cold war. Awesome.” He was already so fucking done with Heaven’s politics.
“Why am I a political chess piece again? Cas is the only one that cares about me and it’s not like I’m important to Heaven anymore.” He asked still holding fast to his belief of his insignificance, but he was met with an awkward silence.
“Right?” He demanded.
The angels shifted awkwardly and avoided eye contact. Yeah, that’s not a good sign.
Rachel snorted at the other angels’ continued silence. “Castiel regards you above all others. You are his ‘friend’,” she sneered, her nose wrinkling unpleasantly. “He considers a move against you as a move against him. Despite your continued existence,” again with the nose wrinkle, “Castiel may still choose to retaliate.”
“Okay, no. You gotta tell him not to do that.” He wasn’t important, certainly not enough to go to war over. They had to tell him not to because it’s not like he’d listen to Dean what with the radio silence and the sic-ing angels on him in passive aggressive overprotectiveness.
“It is not our place to question Castiel!” Rachel snapped. Her wings flapped angrily and Dean was pushed back against his pillows as their gale force winds buffeted him. Hester, Inias, and Alfie all looked like they were about to jump between them, but Rachel ignored them.
“He is our Leader. We are his to command. We do not tell him what to do!” She hissed and Dean was starting to get angry and defensive. There was only so much he could take and getting yelled at by a bitch with wings just about topped his limit of angelic shit for the day.
“Alright, sister, that’s not what I was-”
“I am not your sister and you need to learn your place.”
Oh no she di’in’! “Just who do you think you are, bitch?” He demanded.
“I am Castiel’s friend!” She shouted. Her face contorted with righteous fury.
“And you think I’m not?” Dean yelled indignantly.
Rachel hissed at him and her wings arched high behind her like a pissed off cat with its back up. “I think you only call to him when you need something.”
Okay, now Dean was freaking ticked. “Screw you, lady! I haven’t asked Cas for shit.”
“Yet you throw his angels at danger like we’re at your beck and call!” A scathing snarl curled her lips.
That hit painfully below the belt. The memory of a bleeding dying Alfie was still raw on his conscience and he was just done.
“Listen, you fucking winged bitch-”
“You petty, entitled little piece of-”
“Enough!”
The room was shocked into silence. Dean gritted his teeth, his face flushed with anger. Rachel balanced on the balls of her feet looking ready to spring.
Alfie appeared between them standing in the line of fire consequently cutting a large chunk out of the violence filling the air. Everyone just breathed taking in deep gulps of air trying to slow their hearts down.
Hester and Inias slowly un-tensed no longer ready to lunge into action should Rachel launch an attack. Dean sank back down into his pillows, the wind sucked from his sails. He was suddenly painfully exhausted. Rachel took a step back, straightened her posture, and smoothing her expression.
When he was sure that there wasn’t going to be any bloodshed, Samandriel turned to Rachel. “Thank you, Sister. We are grateful to you for healing Dean.”
Rachel gave him a stiff nod, her eyes averted from Dean. Apparently she’d decided to just ignore that he was even in the room. Fine by him.
She turned and nodded to Hester and Inias as well. “Bothers, Sister, I will return to my duties.” She was gone before any of them could say anything else.
*
With Nurse Ratched fucked off back to Heaven, Dean couldn’t keep himself awake and coherent anymore. He was fully ready to collapse and pass out. He didn’t even wait long enough to find out what his angels were going to do now that he wasn’t on Death’s RSVP list. It felt pretty damned good to just let go and forget for a little while.
Probably hours later, Dean grudgingly swam back to consciousness and let out a groan. His entire body was sore; less good workout sore and more got your ass royally kicked sore. He didn’t know if the pain was from the smack down he’d gotten from Jogger Angel or if it was some left over crap from the assassin poison or what. All he knew or cared about was that he was in some relatively large (though not life threating) amounts of pain.
Steadying his breathing, Dean took stock of himself. His profusely bleeding wounds all seemed to be healed and not hemorrhaging his life’s blood all over Lisa’s grandmother’s quilt anymore. Which was good, because Dean didn’t fancy being poisoned again, just this time by an enraged ex instead of a dick angel.
The angels hadn’t thought to clean him up so, while he wasn’t bleeding anymore, he was still caked in an itchy sticky layer of blood and gravel. It was unpleasant and that wasn’t even counting the still throbbing ache in every single one of his joints from his fingers to his toes.
His eyes squinted open and he stared at the ceiling as he finished his bodily inventory. The only not sucky part of waking up was the fact that he had actually woken up; the warm press of Ben’s forehead against his bicep wasn’t too bad either. His neck throbbing Dean moved as little as possible to look down at the boy curled up in a ball face relaxed in an exhausted sleep. Dean’s heart swelled in his chest and his pain lessened just the littlest bit despite the asshole midget beating on his brain like bongo drums.
The more coherent he got the more his body seemed to wake up too. Twitching his toes Dean became aware of a heavy warm thing lying across his shins and pressed along his leg. Lifting his pounding head, Dean huffed an amused breath when he saw Errol taking up the entire bottom half of the bed. The boy had his face shoved uncomfortably against Dean’s left ankle drool dripping down the corner of his slack mouth making a wet patch on Dean’s pant leg. Errol had stretched out as much as he could his chest leaning heavy against Dean’s left leg with an arm thrown over his shins.
The warmth radiating from the two little space heaters invading his personal space was embarrassingly comforting and Dean couldn’t help the fact that his shriveled up Grinch heart had just grown like five sizes. Seriously, one of these days his kids were going to make it jump right out of his chest like a gruesome parody of a cartoon.
“They refused to leave your side until you had awoken.”
The unexpected voice from his right had Dean jumping to reach for a weapon to defend himself and his charges. His body seized up and all he could do was curse under his breath and bite down on his lip until it bled.
“Jesus Christ, Inias!” Dean hissed as he finally got control of his abused body and turned to look at the angel perched on his chest of drawers. He watched Dean like it was completely not weird for an insanely powerful creature older than dirt to be sitting next to spare change and crumpled receipts. “Warn a guy or something, you almost gave me a heart attack.”
Ignoring Dean’s blaspheme, Inias’ head cocked to the side and a curious frown wrinkled at his brow. “I don’t believe you were in cardiac distress. Rachel assured us your body was almost entirely healed.”
Dean snorted and didn’t bother to explain it was a figure of speech. He was in too much fucking pain for that. “So if I’m all stitched up why does it feel like someone took a grinder saw to my bones?”
“The Innocent’s Bane has been purged, but the symptoms linger. It’ll take some time to fade,” Inias said. “You should be fine in a couple of days.”
“Awesome.” Dean stared back at the ceiling and closed his eyes breathing through a heavy wave of aching. The pain had already started to fade, but if had a ways to go. He was not looking forward to the rest of the process.
“Ben and Errol love you very much.”
The non sequitur made Dean look back at the angel with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, random much?”
Inias ignored him and continued, “Ben loves you because you are the father he has always dreamed of and Errol loves you because you give him the stability and attention he has been deprived. You are lucky to be alive.”
Dean shifted awkwardly in the bed trying not to jostle his body or his boys. He lamented the fact he couldn’t run from a conversation sure to be chocked full of warm squishy feelings and chick-flick moments. Unfortunately, he knew it was unavoidable so he’d just have to suck it up and be honest for once.
“I love them, too,” with his boys pressed against him radiating warmth into his chest and his skin, he couldn’t bring himself to be flippant. “But what does that have to do with not dying again?”
An indecipherable expression flitted across Inias’ face, but it was gone in a blink. Dean didn’t even have a chance to try and decipher it before the angel gave a relatively human shrug. (He’d been practicing with Alfie, but he didn’t know that Dean knew that.)
“The ability to live and love are both very powerful aspects of Free Will.”
Thanks for clearing that up, Colonel Cryptic. Dean didn’t bother trying to get a straight answer out of him after that and he chose not to ask about the capitalization on free will. He was done with this angelic nonsense for a few days. He’s earned it.
“Where are Hester and Alfie? I didn’t imagine them verbally bitch slapping that Rachel chick over my death bed, did I?”
Inias, in an unconscious imitation of Dean, chose not to address the last half of his query. “They were reluctant to leave as well wanting to hold vigil until you awoke, but it was unavoidable. Castiel has need of them in Heaven. The upheaval caused by Raphael’s attempt on you can’t be ignored.”
The knowledge that two of Dean’s favorite stalkers didn’t want to leave him made the warm and cuddlies in his chest multiply, but the feeling was quickly forgotten with the reminder of the shit storm brewing up in Heaven.
A stone settled in his gut and Dean demanded, “Tell me Cas didn’t start a civil war just because the teenage mutant ninja angel tried to off me.”
Inias’ face was blank. “I do not understand that-”
“Tell me I didn’t start a war.” Dean demanded not in the mood to indulge in a lesson in pop culture.
“War has not begun, but tensions are volatile,” Inias finally answered. “The only reason the War Horn hasn’t been sounded is because Castiel is still trying to reason with the opposition and reach an understanding. Raphael is instigating strife at every turn and a small number of skirmishes have broken out, but so far there have been no further casualties.”
Dean breathed. Itching started up beneath his skin as the enormity of the situation Cas was stuck in hit him.
“That does not sound good. I thought Cas was the new sheriff in town. God recharged health bar and a nice new power boost to go with it.”
Inais looked down at his feet dangling an inch off the floor. “Father did not decree that Castiel shall Lead the angels. He granted us Free Will and many of us have freely chosen to follow Castiel.” He paused and seemed to chew on his next words. “Raphael is opposed to Castiel’s teachings of tolerance and understanding. He works to gather followers and restart the Apocalypse. Many of our brothers have chosen to follow the Archangel in his pursuit of Paradise. The Host is divided and struggling with the rapid deterioration of the command structure.”
Dean blew out a heavy breath and watched Inias while he processed the angel’s words. He was reminded of Hester and the day he’d met her. She’d been a hot mess, confused and overwhelmed and drowning in the new and unknown. At least she’d decided to come to him for help. (Or stalk him until he’d noticed and made her accept his help.) Dean didn’t want to guess at how many angels there were cloud-hopping up in Heaven, but there had to be a lot more angels just like Hester and not all of them would turn to Castiel and his camp for help.
Fear of change and the unknown were never a pretty combination. Add super powered self-righteous douchebags with wings to the equation and it was a recipe for disaster.
“Well, shit.” Dean lifted a heavy, sore, but once again mildly functioning hand and scrubbed at his face. “So Heaven is in the middle of a cold war and Cas is stuck keeping both sides from going nuclear.”
Inias nodded. “Heaven is on the brink of war and your attempted assassination was a deliberate move against Castiel,” he reiterated. “It cannot go unanswered regardless of whether he wants to pursue it or not. At this point war is inevitable, he can only stall as long as possible.”
“Fuck.” He growled angrily. Raphael had been a massive dick when they’d butterfly netted his ass and apparently he’d gotten worse.
Ben snuffled in his sleep seeming to respond to the tension in the air and, glancing down at him briefly, Dean suddenly realized that Inias was down here chatting it up with Dean while he should be upstairs helping Cas.
“What are you doing watching me sleep like a creeper? You should be up upstairs helping Cas!” He demanded struggling to rise into a sitting position regardless of his kid sized limpets and his sluggishly healing body. Inias should be preparing to storm the beaches with his brothers not watching Dean recover from the fainting vapors.
There and gone, a flash of surprise lifted Inias’ eyebrows as he slid down from his perch on the dresser. “I was ordered to watch over you.” He explained, bewildered in the face of Dean’s vehemence. “Hester, Samandriel, and Rachel are assisting Castiel prepare for battle.”
Yeah, not good enough. Dean gritted his teeth against the churning need in his gut to march his way into Heaven and kick some douchebag angel ass himself. He couldn’t though, so he had to settle for chasing his angel nursemaid home.
“Screw your orders and get your feathery ass up there and help Cas.” Dean ordered and blissfully ignored his hypocrisy.
Inias didn’t seem too pleased with the suggestion to shirk his duties. “My Commander has said I will watch over you. I will not disobey him.”
Dean pressed on. “You said it yourself; war is coming. Would you rather be down here sitting on your ass or up there making sure your friends live through this?”
Inias was quiet, a rare flash of something like reluctance and indecision flittered through Inias’ eyes and his storm cloud wings twitched. Dean’s words were circling through his mind. He wanted to be with his brothers, to help them, but was he willing to test Castiel’s forgiveness of his disobedience?
The angel’s thoughts were clear as day to Dean as if they were scrolling across his forehead like a ticker tape. “If Cas gets angry with you, tell him I told you to go. Tell him to take it up with me.”
It was instantaneous, Dean’s words made Inias’ hesitations and fears dissipated like smoke. He straightened up like the soldier he was his expression filled with determination.
Meeting the eyes of the man that dared give God’s angel’s orders, Inias spread his wings. “Thank you, Dean Winchester. I will not fail my brothers.”
A gust of wind, a displacement of air and the angel was gone.
Sinking into the bed like his fraying strings had been cut Dean blew out a heavy anxious breath. He glanced down at the two boys pressed warm and safe against him and felt the constant ball of worry and protectiveness throb inside him.
Alfie, Hester, Inias, Cas; his angels, his friends were going to march into war and Dean couldn’t do a damn thing to help.
Castiel, you better ask me for help when you need it. Anything, man, I’ll do it. Don’t you fucking dare stay radio silent, Cas. I will kick your ass.
The prayer slammed into Castiel like a ton of lead bricks and he knew that he couldn’t avoid Dean any longer.
*
End.