Fic: Wings (Part 2)
Title: Wings
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: R for language, violence and sex, more romantic than graphic
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Characters: Dean, Cas, Sam, Michael, Anna, Bobby, various hunters, one OC
Genre: Romance, angst, wing!kink, wing!fic, humor, action/adventure
Warnings: Death, violence, dom/sub
Word Count: 23,300
Summary: Dean and Sam closed the gates to heaven and hell to prevent the apocalypse, stranding Castiel in the world. The best thing to come out of that was the epic love that blossomed between Dean and Castiel. Now the gate to heaven is open again, the apocalypse is back on, and Dean is willing to do anything--anything--to save Cas from destruction at the hand of his brother Michael.
"He knew if he had it all to do over again, he’d just do the same thing, because he was Dean Winchester, and he couldn’t make another choice, for the same old reasons: love, and loyalty, and family."
Continued from here.
Dean could not allow himself to think as he drove of the reasons why Cas would not come when he called. He hoped against hope that it was just that Cas was very busy trying to close the gate or prevent the opening of another gate, but as time passed, that possibility seemed less and less likely. Cas would always come to him, always. Always. Either he was imprisoned somehow, or ....
If the gate to heaven was really open again, then surely the apocalypse was back on schedule and Michael or one of his flunkies would be popping in at any moment to try to force Dean to say yes to Michael. He kept an eye out for angels appearing out of nowhere, but nothing so far. He wished he could take this for a good sign, but somehow it felt like the worst sign of all.
Sam was with half the hunters, headed for the gate to hell, since the angels would have to get that one open to let Lucifer out if they really wanted to stage the apocalypse again, and why would they work so hard to get heaven’s gate open if that wasn’t their aim? The rest of the hunters were on their way to heaven’s gate with Dean. Truth be told, most of them were jazzed about having some world-saving to do again. Dean might have been, too, once upon a time. Now all he could think about was Cas. His eyes filled with tears and he forced them down yet again. He couldn’t afford to think about it. He just couldn’t.
All the hunters with Dean caravaned the whole way, parked outside the Lubbock skyscraper that had been built over the gate, and gathered outside to decide who would go in first. The streets seemed oddly deserted for a Monday.
“Me,” Dean said without hesitation. “I go in first.”
“I’m with you,” said Bobby.
“Me, too--you need me,” said Anna.
Dean nodded shortly and headed for the loading door they used when they closed the gate the first time. Between them, the hunters had all the materials for the spell, and Frank even thought he had a way to make it work better this time while they tried to figure out what went wrong last time and how the angels got through, so the rest of the hunters started gathering all the ingredients out of their trunks and making contingency plans. Dean left them to it and went inside.
It looked just like he remembered. It seemed like yesterday that they’d closed the gate, and in fact, it had only been a few years. The one reason they’d been so successful last time was the element of surprise--the angels didn’t think they had the means to do it, not knowing they had Anna--reawakened to her angel memories--on their side to feed them information, so they met with no resistance until the spell was almost finished. They would have no such luck this time, not to mention that Anna was just now saying the same spell might not work twice, if they’d figured out how to reopen the gate. They were heading down the stairs into the basement. Dean turned back to ask if she had any better ideas, only to find she wasn’t there. Neither was Bobby. Oh, fuck. “Anna?” he called. It echoed up the staircase. No answer.
Dean could run out to the parking lot and try to warn everybody that the angels were already onto them, but chances were the hunters already knew that by now, and Dean probably wouldn’t make it out the door, anyway. He took out his phone to send a text, only to find it on the fritz. The way to keep everyone safest was to forge ahead. He was the one the angels wanted. If they got him, maybe they’d leave everyone else alone and let them go in peace.
It was hardly the first time he’d walked into danger, into a trap, facing possible--likely--death, but somehow it felt worse than all those other times, even worse than the hellhounds, more ... hopeless. Even more hopeless than that. The thing was, he and Sam had determined never, ever to say yes to those bastards, no matter what. They could torture him, kill him, whatever they wanted ... but he still wouldn’t say yes. Sam had always been his Achilles heel, as Dean had been Sam’s, but the angels needed both Sam and Dean to throw their apocalypse party, so Sam and Dean had nothing to lose, no matter what the angels did to either of them. Although this could get bad, it couldn’t get that bad. So why couldn’t he shake this feeling?
To his surprise, though he’d expected at least one or two junkless pricks to be waiting for him, the basement was empty. He drew out an angel blade--one of several he had in his jacket--just in case, and crept between the boxes full of old files and accounting the businesses in this building innocently stored down here. The sigils holding the gate closed--drawn on the wall, hidden behind stacks of innocuous-looking boxes--were burned away, and Dean was now sure the gate was open and angels were flooding into the world once again, wreaking havoc on human lives, determined to restart the apocalypse and decimate the world, or at least a pretty big chunk of it.
He proceeded through every corner of the basement, finding nothing. Was it possible this wasn’t some kind of setup by Michael and Raphael, but was instead a new trick Gabriel was playing? Baffled, he finally relaxed a little, turned and headed for the door, and then the angel blade fell from his hand and hit the cement floor with a loud clatter.
There, against the opposite wall, stood Cas, drooping, appearing exhausted. Angel blades were in the wall beside him, as if they’d been thrown like knives. Dean ran to him and cupped his face. “Cas! Oh, my God, Cas! Are you okay??” He looked him over quickly, and found nothing amiss. If they’d thrown the angel blades at him, they’d missed. “What happened?? Never mind; let’s get you out of here.”
He pulled on him, but Cas let out a yelp. “No!” he cried, his voice rough and grating. “Please ....”
“Cas! What--?” Something flickered against the wall, and then Dean could see his wings, as black and visible as before, only white light shone out of them in places--the places where the angel blades were impaled into the wall ... through Cas’s wings. Suddenly Dean couldn’t feel his body. “Oh, my God.”
Those bastards had pinned Cas to the wall by his wings, driving angel blades through them--the only thing that could stop an angel. Dean’s vision swam red as he thought vaguely about what he would do to those sons of bitches as soon as he saw one. First things first: he had to get Cas out of here, now. He wrenched at one of the angel blades, but it was embedded deeply into the cement. He braced one leg against the wall, then both, yanking with all his might, but nothing happened. He thought he might have felt it budge a tiny bit when he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“I knew you’d come.”
Dean dropped to his feet and whirled to face whoever it was, drawing another angel blade from his jacket. He didn’t recognize the guy, a young man who looked ... well, actually, he looked kind of like Dean. “Let him go!” Dean shouted instantly, pointing to Cas.
The young man smiled, turning to walk a couple of steps, the very picture of relaxation and victory. “Castiel tried to keep his association with you a secret, but when I saw it in his eyes ....” He shook his head and laughed softly. “I couldn’t believe it. An angel, fornicating with a human--with my vessel, no less. The impudence. Castiel.” He shook his head and tsked. “Is there no law you won’t so shamelessly flout?”
“Michael,” Dean breathed. Of course it had to be Michael.
“I suppose my vessel was already as thoroughly sullied as he could have been before you even got to him,” Michael went on, “but brother, truly, what has become of you? You used to be so obedient, and now, you are a travesty where once was an angel who had the potential to become one of my most devoted officers. You might even eventually have made archangel.”
Dean glanced back at Cas, who was only barely able to raise his face, lined with pain. Dean took a step forward, brandishing the angel blade. “You let him go, you son of a bitch! Then we’ll talk!”
Angels could disappear and reappear anywhere; Michael obviously didn’t consider Dean and his angel blade much of a threat. Michael tilted his head, observing Dean scientifically, like a new species of animal. “It is as you thought, brother. He did love you enough to come for you.”
When Cas spoke, his voice was soft and pleading, with no thought for himself. “Please let him go, brother. Please.”
Michael smiled. “But I did all of this to bring him here so that he would finally become my vessel, as has been the plan from the beginning of time.”
“He will never say yes,” Cas grated out. From the weakness in his voice and the way he drooped, hanging from the angel blades, Dean guessed he’d probably been here pretty much since he left them at the restaurant. Angel blades pinioning him to a wall were about the only thing that could prevent him from being able to come when Dean called. He’d probably been trapped here like this all that time. Dean burned with rage ... and guilt. They could have come in the night, as soon as Dean realized the gate must be open, instead of waiting until morning to head out. Dean could at least have come on his own. Why hadn’t he??
Michael had the faintest expression of regret. “Then I suppose there is no reason to let a rebel like you live any longer.” Suddenly appearing right in front of Cas, he put his hand on Cas’s forehead. Dean had seen powerful angels kill other angels this way. Michael was as powerful as they came. “Goodbye, brother.”
“NO!” Dean yelled, coming at Michael’s back with the angel blade. Without even looking behind him, Michael caught the blade and swung Dean around, flinging him against the cement wall. Dean ricocheted off it, groaning, his shoulder dislocated, but he didn’t have time to think about that now. As soon as he was able to shake off the momentary dizziness, he raced over to get between them, only staggering slightly. Michael amenably took a step back.
Dean held his good arm out protectively in front of Cas, who spoke softly in his ear. “Dean, leave now.”
“He’s gonna kill you!”
Cas sounded like he’d already considered every eventuality, already calculated every possible outcome, and made his decision. He sounded like he’d already given up. “I told you I would be destroyed. Go back to your brother and live a full life, Dean. Give my love to all our friends, and tell them I ... I am sorry I could not have helped you more.”
“You think I’m just gonna leave you here?!” Dean shrieked, still keeping his eyes on Michael.
“There is no other option.”
“Of course there’s another option!” Dean hissed. “There’s always another option!”
Cas went on, unrelentingly logical and preternaturally calm. “Michael will destroy me no matter what. I am grateful for the love you gave to me. Remember what I told you: it will never die; the universe will remember. You will remember. It is good. It was good, Dean. Thank you, for everything. A love like that ... it changed you, it changed me. It changed everything. I have already lived longer than I was intended to. I think I was created only that I might free you from hell, but I received so much in return. God has been gracious to me indeed. I am satisfied. I feel complete, except ... I’m concerned for you and your needs. You must find a new love. You will, won’t you?”
“I was gonna find you love!”
“It was not to be, as our love was not meant to be, but it was anyway. I’m happy, Dean. Very happy.” Dean couldn’t afford to turn around to look, but he could swear he heard a genuine smile in his voice. “I was angel, and I was also human. I loved, and I was loved. It was enough. It will give me all the joy I could ever hope for to see you walk out the door back to your life, knowing you will live it until the end. Even angels don’t live forever. I’ll die feeling joyful. What more could anyone want?”
Michael watched their conversation curiously, watched Dean’s face work as he tried to fight back tears. “No!,” Dean cried.
Cas’s voice was resolute, as if he already knew what would happen, as if he had seen the future, he only had to make Dean see his way clear to following the plan. He entertained no doubts. He had absolute faith in Dean’s commitment to forestall the apocalypse at any cost--he’d seen that commitment, first-hand. Besides, his logic was unassailable. What made the tears stream down Dean’s face was hearing in his voice that Cas truly believed the cost of his own life was minor and easily given--and that Dean wouldn’t hesitate to pay it. “It’s the only choice.”
“It’s not a choice I can make!” He and Sam had promised, but he hadn’t met Cas yet when they made that promise, hadn’t fallen in love. They hadn’t factored Cas into the equation. He couldn’t do this, any more than he would be able to let them kill Sam if he said no. They couldn’t kill Sam; they needed him. But they didn’t need Cas.
“It’s the only one.”
“No. It’s not the only one.”
Dean had an idea. It was the idea Sam had had, the only plan they had, until they figured out with Anna’s help how to close the gates. Sam was going to say yes to Lucifer and take back control, at least long enough to hurl Lucifer into the pit. Dean could do that now. He could take control long enough to save Cas. So maybe they’d been able to make him say yes, but Sam would never give in, so they could still prevent the apocalypse. Sam would be the one who saved the world; Dean had always known it would be him. It was all up to Sam now.
He turned around to face Cas, and briefly kissed his slack lips. Cas reacted belatedly, taken by surprise by the suddenness of the touch, lifting his head slightly and barely returning the kiss. Dean put his lips right against Cas’s ear and spoke at scarcely a whisper. “When I free you, you get out of here, you go somewhere they can never get you, and you stay alive. I have a soul. Michael can’t afford to kill me, anyway. One way or another, I’ll be all right, but you--we’ve got to save you.”
As Dean drew back to nod intently at him, Cas stared into Dean’s eyes, his eyes widening as he read Dean’s intentions. “You must not,” Cas said sharply, with more strength than Dean would have guessed he could command right now. “You must not!”
Dean turned back to Michael, steeled himself, and looked him straight in the eye. “Yes,” he said.
Dean was disoriented and confused. Vast amounts of information flicked through his brain at a speed that rendered it all incomprehensible. He could see dozens of things in different parts of his mind happening in different places at once; he could hear the voices of other beings. It took him a while to figure out what part of his perceptions were himself, his body, the here and now. It was Cas that brought him to it, the sight of Cas, helplessly pinned to the wall, staring intently at him. He heard his own voice. “That was truly very moving,” he told Cas, only it wasn’t him who said it. “Such a devoted human would be quite useful--especially if he was a Winchester. How did you make him fall in love with you?”
Cas cast his eyes down, the very picture of despair. “There is so much you don’t understand, brother. No one makes anyone fall in love.”
“Cherubim make people fall in love,” Michael said dismissively, “only I can see you are not inflicted with the mark of the heart, nor is this vessel. So I don’t know what madness possessed you, but it seems perfectly in line with all your other insubordinate acts. I really don’t understand why he said yes, but the Winchesters have always been foolish and incomprehensible, especially this one.” He rolled his eyes irritably, as if galled that he’d been stuck with the worst Winchester. “You even told him I would kill you either way.”
Dean’s heart broke at the expression on Cas’s face, a sorrow deeper than any a mere human could ever comprehend--but Michael’s words reminded Dean of his purpose, and he started worming his way back into his body, into being able to feel it and control it--now, while Michael was distracted. “Even I can’t comprehend it,” Cas murmured, “but once I saw in his eyes that he meant to, I could not imagine him doing anything else.”
Michael easily pushed his arm back into its socket. “This vessel,” he complained, “scars and old broken bones and poor nutrition.” He swept his hand over himself, and sighed, slightly mollified. “Easy enough to fix, but you would think he would respect me enough to take care of himself. Why are you smiling?”
Indeed, a small, wistful smile touched Cas’s lips. “Just ... he made up a word once, to describe what you just did. It made me remember.”
Michael shook his head, baffled and not a little disgusted. “Sentimentality, too, brother? Are you entirely human now? Is there no angelic nature left to you at all?” Dean laughed softly as he infiltrated every part of Michael’s being, replacing it with himself. Cas kept talking about how human he was now all this time, but he’d always seemed as much angel as ever to Dean. Funny to think that to angels, he seemed human now. “I will truly miss you, brother. I always believed your innocence would be your strength. Strange that it was your downfall.”
Cas said nothing in response, only hanging there.
“I might even have allowed you to live and attempted rehabilitation once more, but marrying a human, Castiel!” Michael exclaimed, and Dean could suddenly see what Cas had been talking about all that time when he agonized over the crime he believed it would be to marry Dean. Dean had always thought the whole idea it could be wrong was stupid. He didn’t believe angels could seriously have such a big problem with it, but here was the proof. “I would never have believed you capable of such wicked foolishness, Castiel--you, of all my brothers! Even Lucifer would never have considered doing something like that! What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”
Dean hoped Cas would renounce their marriage to Michael’s face; at least then maybe the angels wouldn’t be so determined to kill him the next time they saw him and he’d be a little safer out there, wherever he went to hide.
Instead, Cas raised his chin defiantly and said, “I regret nothing.”
Michael snorted. “You doom yourself.”
Cas lowered his head again, a grim smile twisting his mouth. “Michael,” he said suddenly, as Michael picked up the angel blade Dean had dropped when Michael flung him against the wall. “I will miss you, too. I will miss most your compassionate nature. You were always one of the very kindest.”
Michael smiled. Dean could feel how it pleased him to have his ego stroked like that.
“If I may, I’d like to make one last request of you, brother,” Cas went on, “believing that in your great compassion, you’ll do as I ask.” Dean wasn’t quite sure, but he figured Cas was stalling, giving Dean time to take control back, and Dean used every second he was giving him to strengthen his hold so he could keep control as long as possible once he took it. All he had to do was get all those angel blades out of Cas’s wings; then Cas could fly away and disappear.
Michael stepped close to look in Cas’s eyes, curious. Dean couldn’t follow Michael’s light-speed thoughts, but he did gather that he believed, whatever Cas was about to say, that Cas was utterly sincere. “I’ll consider it,” Michael promised. “What is it?”
“As soon as you can, release your vessel and allow him to go back to his life. He said yes to you. He has given you everything that’s his to give, and had everything else taken away. You owe him that much.”
Michael thought it over. “Once the final battle is complete, I should have no more need of him. As long as things proceed as expected, I’ll fulfill your request.”
The last vestiges of tension in Cas evaporated; Dean watched him sink a little farther down the wall, and a genuine smile touched his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Things were definitely not going to proceed as expected, Dean thought with grim satisfaction. Michael would probably punish him by refusing to let him go back to his life when all this was over, but it didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he get Cas free now. Michael was moving toward Cas, holding the angel blade. It was time.
Dean felt his awareness in all his limbs, reached, and took back control of his body, knowing Michael would fight him as soon as he realized what was happening, but Dean thought he could keep control long enough to use Michael’s strength to yank those angel blades out of Cas’s wings and watch him disappear to safety.
Dean tossed the angel blade Michael was holding aside ... or he tried. Michael continued to advance toward Cas. Dean tried again, getting anxious. Again, nothing. Michael chuckled. “Your lover thought he had taken back control. Is he always this amusing?”
Cas looked unbearably sad. “He can be overly optimistic at times.”
Michael laughed out loud. “I am the most powerful angel in all of creation, and he believed he could wrest control back from me?”
Cas’s forehead creased. “Please don’t laugh at him, brother. He is suffering.”
“I’m not laughing at his suffering. I’m marveling at these Winchesters. I expected so much more before I actually stepped into his skin and saw how little is really in here. How can they be so dumb and still have managed to foil us so many times? Unless ... is the other brother much smarter than this one?”
Cas looked like Michael’s cruel words caused him agony. “They have ... other strengths.”
Ah, Cas. Always so diplomatic. Dean thought for sure Cas must be distracting Michael so he could take control, but though he tried harder and harder, tried everything, nothing was working, and he was getting pretty worried--way more so when Cas looked him in the eye and Dean somehow knew he was looking right at Dean now, not at Michael. “It’s okay,” Cas said gently. “It’s okay, Dean. Don’t feel bad. You must not feel guilty.” He kept talking as Michael raised the angel blade, and Dean was fighting as hard as he knew how, harder than he’d ever fought in his life. “It was such a brave act, to say yes to Michael. I know how hard you’re trying. You did everything you could.” Michael put the point of the blade to Cas’s chest. Cas scarcely even appeared to notice, using every last second he had to reassure Dean. “Don’t be sad. Thank you for our life together.”
“Goodbye, brother,” Michael said, and Dean felt Michael’s genuine regret at his brother’s demise.
“Goodbye, Dean,” said Cas. “I love you, Dean. I love you. Never forget.” This couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Yet Dean watched Michael plunge the blade through Cas’s chest, watched his lover explode like a supernova. Dean stared in horror at the imprint of Cas’s wings on the wall--not aligned with Jimmy’s body where it had slumped to the ground, but where his wings had been pinned when the angel part of him had been obliterated. Cas. Cas was dead.
If Dean still had control of his body, he would have sat there on his knees beside Jimmy’s body for hours, days ... weeks, maybe. Maybe he would never have regained the ability to function and he would have just died there, staring, if none of his friends ever came to get him.
If he had started to function again--if Sam, say, or maybe Bobby, had managed to break through the vicious cycle of grief and guilt and denial and made him able even to think comprehensible thoughts--he’d have been undone by guilt and regret and rage and sorrow, useless as a hunter, useless to their friends, an embarrassment, but it would have been all he could do to make himself live through another day.
But Dean didn’t have control of his body. He didn’t have the luxury of hiding away from thoughts or people he couldn’t face. Michael was always there, always thinking, planning, acting, flying, always doing something, and Dean realized that probably snapped him out of it sooner than anything else could have.
It helped that the very being Dean wanted to rage at until he’d decimated him, to punish and wreak revenge on, was right there, stuck with him. Dean didn’t hold back, raged until there was nothing left of him to rage with. Michael had no apology for him, but he was not uncompassionate. “I loved my brother, too,” he would tell him, and when Dean demanded to know how then he could kill him, Michael’s maddening logical responses about duty and purpose and capital crimes numbed Dean until he was almost as numb as Michael seemed to be. Michael was not unkind, Dean discovered. One of the only comforts Dean found there inside what was now the body belonging to Michael was remembering Cas saying how much he loved this, his favorite brother. In an indirect way, Dean could be with Cas by being with the brother he most loved. He could even get Michael to talk about Cas and tell stories about his days as a young angel, when Michael’s attention wasn’t taken up too much with other things, such as the angels’ efforts to open hell’s gate to free Lucifer.
For Michael was busy, commanding an entire army, single-handedly arranging an apocalypse. They zapped everywhere all the time, between the gates, to heaven and back, with no break. Dean had always hated angel travel. It messed with his head and all his bodily functions. He’d gotten to the point where Cas could zap them somewhere once a day--maybe twice--and he’d be okay, but that was it. He had no bodily functions now, but he still hated it just as much. Humans weren’t meant to flick between dimensions like channels on a t.v. As soon as he realized how Dean was suffering, Michael pushed him down into some other part of Michael’s vast consciousness where Dean didn’t even have to be aware of what was going on in the outside world, and told Dean he could do as he liked. Michael would only need his attention, he said, if he had to access Dean’s knowledge or memories.
A long time ago, Cas had given his vessel his life back. Dean had gotten to know Jimmy a little. He’d asked him what it was like to be a vessel. Jimmy had warned him how much it sucked. The consolation for Jimmy had been the access to Cas’s tremendous angel powers, stuff like going back through history--all of history, even before humans were on the Earth. Dean saw what he meant. Michael had access to all of Dean’s thoughts and memories ... and likewise, Dean had access to all of Michael’s--Michael, who had been around to see the Earth cool, to see single-celled organisms form, that very first spark of life. Michael also had memories of Cas, and though he’d never paid the naïve little angel much mind, Dean pored over these memories obsessively.
Another benefit of Michael’s immense power was that it could hone and fill out Dean’s own memories, make them so vivid they were almost real, so better even than going through Michael’s cool, distant memories was going through his own, reliving every moment he’d ever had with Cas, rewinding over the very best parts again and again. Michael pitied him that he spent his time this way, but he allowed it, only getting annoyed when it was sex or their wedding that Dean relived.
Michael tsked at a particularly romantic intimate moment Dean was just going over again in slow motion. “Shameful,” he said brusquely.
“Beautiful!” Dean shot back.
“Disgusting, you humans rolling around in your own bodily fluids and simmering in waves of emotion.”
“Good to know how you really think about humans there, buddy. Wait, what was Lucifer’s crime again?”
“There is nothing wrong with humans engaging in these activities; it’s a vital part of how you evolved. But to see my brother there, participating as though it’s his right to enjoy human graces! I am glad now to know these memories of yours; it’s plain there was no hope for him anymore.”
A little piece of Dean crumbled. It was agony to hear Michael dismiss one of his most priceless memories of such a precious person this way. Michael took in this thought, this feeling, of Dean’s, and at last said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“He was human!” Dean cried. “I got him stuck on Earth, and what else could he do but be one of us?! If you’re gonna blame someone, blame me! Cas never did anything wrong. He was so good! He did everything right! So why did you have to--why ....”
Michael’s tone was regretful but blunt. “Any angel who would flout every law we have must be undone. We tried to rehabilitate him and failed.”
If Dean could cry, he would be. “What about me? I’ve flouted every rule you’ve got, too, and you didn’t kill me ... much.”
“The power of a human is limited, but Dean, even you must be able to see that a being as powerful as an angel who won’t follow the rules is profoundly dangerous. The havoc he could wreak, on Earth and in heaven ... I shudder to think. If he were to collect enough power by nefarious means ....”
“But he would never do anything bad! You saw him, how sweet he is--”
“His naivete was the most dangerous aspect of him. Who knows what such a being could do in its ignorance.”
“You’re an idiot!” Dean cried, and refused to talk to Michael for a long time after that, even though, being inside Michael, he couldn’t help seeing his point, much as he hated it. Still, it didn’t matter. Even if Cas could do those things, Dean knew that as long as they were together, he never would. He would never do anything he knew was bad. As painful as it was to hear Michael talk like this about Cas, on another level, he felt a little bit better. It made Cas’s death just slightly less intolerable to know that the angel who killed him truly believed he was doing the right--the only--thing. As much as Dean disagreed over whether it was right, he’d done just about everything he’d ever done for the same exact reason--and with a lot less information than Michael. He couldn’t help respecting it, a little. He and Michael really were a lot alike.
Dean was lost in more memories when he felt his awareness being forced to the surface. He saw out his own eyes again for the first time in what he assumed must be a year, although it felt more like a hundred, but he figured it couldn’t be a hundred, or Sam would have died of old age by now, and Dean was pretty sure he’d have heard about it if such a big wrench as the death of Lucifer’s vessel had been thrown into the angels’ plans. So he was baffled to see Bobby, and Anna, and all the other hunters they’d gone there with, in the parking lot outside the skyscraper, just like they’d been when he walked through the loading door. Most of them were gathered around that door, trying to get in, shouting about how it was sealed shut. Dean heard Bobby and Anna saying they’d been walking down the steps, right on Dean’s heels, and had suddenly found themselves once more in the parking lot.
“They’ve got ’im,” Bobby growled, but Dean could hear the anxiety under the gruff tone. “Don’t matter; he’ll never say yes, but who knows what they’ll do to ’im before we can get to ’im.”
Dean could scarcely comprehend. “What the--wha-- No time has passed??”
“I had many things to attend to, once I finally had a vessel, that were more important than dealing with these humans, so I’ve been availing myself of the fluidity of time, but yes, it has been only a little while since I took you,” Michael explained silently to him. Then, using Dean’s voice and Dean’s body to do it, he addressed the gathering of hunters, behind whom he stood some distance away in the parking lot. “The gate is open, and it will remain so. It is heavily guarded. Any attempt to close it again will result in your deaths. I suggest you return to your homes and get your affairs in order, since you are unlikely to survive the apocalypse.”
The hunters turned around at his voice. “Dean!” Garth exclaimed, relieved. Dean saw the relief blossom on Bobby’s face, too, then quickly wither. He knew. Most of them didn’t, though, probably hoping against hope that Dean was just talking weird.
“What happened in there?” Rufus called to him.
“That ain’t Dean,” Bobby said, gruff voice lined with sorrow. “How’d you git ’im to say yes, you bastard?” he shouted.
A murmur went through the gathered hunters as they realized that Dean had said yes. They looked stricken. Someone must have said it, then others were saying it: “Cas.”
Bobby heard them. “You got Cas, didja? That’s how you did it, threatened to kill ’im?”
“Castiel has been destroyed,” Michael informed them helpfully, “so you no longer have an angel’s assistance, which you know was your only chance of success, since we still possess Annael’s grace. I would like to fulfill this vessel’s wishes and not have to kill any of you, but that will only be possible if you don’t cause difficulties.”
Dean saw the wave of devastation go through the crowd of hunters, blow after blow: Dean had said yes, Cas was dead. Basically, two of the three lines of defense they’d had between them and the apocalypse were down in one fell swoop. It really was all up to Sam now, Sam saying no, no matter what. Only ... only now, Sam had Virginia. Oh, no.
As usual, Bobby couldn’t hold back, even though it was about the stupidest thing he could do if he wanted to stay alive. “You lying sons o’ bitches!” he shouted, lunging for Michael unarmed, held back by some of the other hunters. “You tricked him into saying yes, and then you killed Cas anyway!”
“I have never lied to my vessel. He knew before he said yes that I would destroy Castiel either way.”
Dean couldn’t bear the looks on his friends’ faces: the crushing sorrow, the despair. Worst of all, the betrayal: they were standing right there, looking at the face of the guy who had betrayed them, and all for nothing. Dean wondered for the millionth time if it would have been better if he’d said no and just let Michael kill Cas. Cas would be dead either way. He’d have gotten to die the way he said he wanted to: watching Dean walk back to his life. But then, Cas wouldn’t have known how much he meant to Dean, that Dean was willing to try anything--anything--to save him. No matter how he looked at it, Dean couldn’t see himself being able to make any other choice, but that wouldn’t matter to the hunters gathered here, wondering how Dean could have traded in the whole world for a failed attempt to save his man. “Tell ’em I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.
Michael hesitated, considering whether he wanted to do as Dean requested, then said, “This vessel wishes for me to tell you he’s sorry.” Spoken in Michael’s flat, unapologetic tones, it sounded hollow, worse than if Dean hadn’t said anything. The hunters were still in the windy morning, stunned silent maybe. This was the legacy Dean had left the world: the guy who screwed everything up and gave in and let the world end because he was an idiot. Then again, that was probably going to be his legacy no matter what, so, no big surprise there. Michael asked Dean silently, “Is there anything else I may tell them that might make them stand down? I’m trying to prolong your friends’ lives.”
Dean looked at all his friends, at their faces, knowing he would probably never see any of them ever again. Rufus, Bobby, Garth, Ash, Frank, Anna ... there was no such surrender in their expressions, no hesitation, no doubt. Nothing anyone could ever say would stop a hunter from laying it all on the line to try to save someone else. “No,” Dean sighed at last, and Michael flew away without another word.
“I have told you many things about my brother,” Michael piped up one day, though each day felt like an eternity, and passing back and forth between short time periods as Michael liked to do in order to get more done in a day, Dean could no longer tell whether it was day or night, not like he cared anymore. “And since the day you said yes, I have asked you for nothing.”
“What do you want?” Dean asked shrewdly.
“I wondered ... I have tried to be kind to you, Dean, I really have. Have you perceived this?”
Dean couldn’t deny that was true, and he knew Michael heard that thought.
“I wondered if you might show me the kindness in return of telling me how I could convince your brother to say yes to Lucifer, once we open the other gate.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Dean. You said yes. There is no way out. If I could trust you to say yes any time I had need of this vessel, I would release you now and then, but it was so difficult to get you to say yes the first time, you know I won’t be able to let you go until my purpose is fulfilled and the final battle has been waged between me and my brother. You know angels are infinitely more powerful than humans. You know we will never stop until the apocalypse is finished. You can’t win. And, as you have noted, the world doesn’t really seem to want to be saved. Castiel was right; you do have other strengths, one of which is courage. You were very brave to resist, and I understand why you did, misguided as it was. But that time is finished. It’s too late to resist now. Allow the final battle to take place, and when I destroy Lucifer, your brother’s soul will be at rest in the fields of the lord, yours to follow, and the souls of all those who die in the apocalypse.”
It was hard to argue with Michael, especially now that he could barely scrape up anything he had left to live for, if Michael did ever release him. There were times in Dean’s life when he’d have had a hard time arguing with this logic, anyway. There was one thing he couldn’t ever do, though, not even now. He couldn’t do that to Sam. “Sorry,” Dean told Michael. “You’re on your own. But I’ll tell you now, he’s never gonna say yes. Never. I counted on it when I said yes to you.”
“Hm,” said Michael, pleasantly enough, but thoroughly unconvinced. “Well, thanks for your input.”
When he lost himself in his memories of Cas, Dean could almost feel all right for a while. Sometimes he recreated memories of Sam, especially when they were young and traveling around with their dad--when they were a family--but every memory he had with anyone else, no matter how fun, was also tinged with pain. Only Cas had been able to make everything peaceful and joyful and beautiful.
When Dean kept wondering how time could seem to pass so slowly, Michael informed him that angels were able to think infinitely faster than a human being. Dean’s thoughts were still slow compared to Michael’s and he couldn’t follow half of what went through the guy’s mind, but now he could follow some of it, unlike when he first said yes, and Dean realized he and Michael were melding a little, enough that Dean was able to access some of Michael’s powers, such as his lightning-fast brain.
The downside of this was that, after reliving every minute of the two years he had with Cas several times, he’d sucked all the joy out of it, memorized every second already, and it couldn’t distract him from the realities he had to face anymore. Cas was gone. Dean had said yes. The angels--or even the demons--might find a way to make Sam say yes, too. The world might end, all because of him. Sam might die, and all their friends, because of him. And Cas ... Cas had died, because of him. If he hadn’t talked Cas into marrying him, Michael might have given him another chance. There was one memory of Cas he worked hard never to relive, but now it began plaguing him: his last moments, his insistence that Dean not say yes, his crushing despair when he did, his knowledge that Dean would fail, Dean’s appalling and humiliating failure, the way Cas thought only of Dean right up until the end. Dean couldn’t afford to get caught up in these kinds of thoughts, because the guilt and horror and sorrow tore into him like a hurricane and there was nothing he could do about it: he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t drink, nothing. But as he ran out of other things to think about, he was finding he couldn’t stop the torment.
“No,” Michael said sharply as Dean got worse. “Stop, foolish human.”
“I can’t,” Dean groaned. “Cas ....”
“Castiel was only an angel,” Michael said dismissively, “a soldier, a messenger, a servant of humanity. He existed only to serve heaven’s purpose, and he died serving heaven’s purpose. No angel would begrudge such an honorable death, and you saw that Castiel did not begrudge it. At least there was some decency left in him, something of angelic values; at least he did not shame himself by lamenting his own death like a human.”
“It’s my fault he was human,” Dean said, crushed under the weight of his despair. “It’s because he fixed me in hell that he rebelled against you guys in the first place, and it’s because I closed the gate that he was stuck on Earth and had to become human. I’m the one who talked him into marrying me; he was scared to. It was me, all me, but he’s the one you killed!”
Without pity, Michael said sternly, “Perhaps that should have served as a lesson to you, not to close the gate, and not to ... liaise with inappropriate creatures.”
The only comfort Dean could find in this moment was his complete absence of regret for loving Cas, remembering Cas’s defiant insistence that he couldn’t regret it, either, whatever the cost, to either of them. “I’d ‘liaise’ with Cas a million times more, no matter what it cost me,” Dean mumbled, “but ... not what it cost ... him.”
“How on earth did you fall in love with an angel?” Michael said, and Dean could tell that had been niggling at him ever since he first asked Cas, the day he died.
The answer to that question flashed unbidden through Dean’s mind: how they each became a part of the other as Cas remade his shredded soul in hell, how they met again when Cas was trying and failing to live as a human and Dean managed to save his life by loving him.
“Ah,” said Michael, understanding--or at least, he thought he did. “Humans are motivated by necessity, primarily the need to survive. It was your sympathy for his imminent death that motivated you to do whatever it took to keep him alive, including loving him. Your mistake was in thinking of him as human and deserving of your sympathy.”
“You just stop right there,” Dean said, suddenly icy. “Don’t you talk about him like that.”
“You never understood what he was. He was an angel, albeit a broken one, vaster and simultaneously lesser than humanity, unworthy of human love, incapable of understanding it.”
In Michael’s coldly analytical way, Dean knew, he was trying to help Dean feel better by helping him believe the grapes were sour anyway. All angels were emotionless and purely logical like that ... except Cas. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Dean said, not even feeling the need to fight over it anymore, because he knew he was right and Michael simply didn’t get it, couldn’t get it, because he could never understand all that Cas had become. “Broken for an angel, maybe--broken into being a human--or more like one, anyway. The best of both worlds, human and angel. He did love, Michael. You don’t get it, because you don’t understand love, but ... he did.”
“Angels are love,” Michael said coolly. “Of course I understand love.”
“No, you don’t. Not human love. Not like him.”
Michael hesitated. Something about Dean’s absolute confidence shook his. Angels--all except Lucifer, anyway--really did believe humans to be greater than they were. Maybe there was some kind of power Dean had over Michael, after all. Michael left the topic alone after that, but Dean could feel him observing Dean with new eyes now, trying to comprehend this thing that was simply beyond his comprehension and always would be.
For his part, Dean tried to figure out how he could use this newfound power against Michael to help Sam and the other hunters when it came down to it, but try as he might, he couldn’t see what it could accomplish. All he’d managed to do was to make Michael doubt he knew everything about love. He tried to make him doubt himself about the apocalypse, too--in fact, he attacked his confidence everywhere--but Michael was onto him and unsusceptible on every other subject. Still, Dean kept at it, hoping for success, until Michael finally laughed at him.
“You really must be the most foolish human I’ve ever used for a vessel. Your ancestors were superior to you, Dean.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You keep fighting even when fighting accomplishes nothing.”
This was true. Trying to fight Michael was like trying to fight a ghost with anything but iron or salt; it seemed to pass through him without his even noticing Dean had tried to do anything. It was like Dean just couldn’t reach him, couldn’t touch him. ‘If I can touch it, I can kill it.’ Dean remembered his own words from years before. But he couldn’t touch Michael. “I don’t know any other way,” he said finally. Cas had tried to teach him another way, and failed because Dean wasn’t bright enough to understand anything but brute force. It was like it was his tragic flaw. All was lost because it was the only thing he knew how to do.
On to Part 3 ....
Author: brightly_lit
Rating: R for language, violence and sex, more romantic than graphic
Pairing: Dean/Cas
Characters: Dean, Cas, Sam, Michael, Anna, Bobby, various hunters, one OC
Genre: Romance, angst, wing!kink, wing!fic, humor, action/adventure
Warnings: Death, violence, dom/sub
Word Count: 23,300
Summary: Dean and Sam closed the gates to heaven and hell to prevent the apocalypse, stranding Castiel in the world. The best thing to come out of that was the epic love that blossomed between Dean and Castiel. Now the gate to heaven is open again, the apocalypse is back on, and Dean is willing to do anything--anything--to save Cas from destruction at the hand of his brother Michael.
"He knew if he had it all to do over again, he’d just do the same thing, because he was Dean Winchester, and he couldn’t make another choice, for the same old reasons: love, and loyalty, and family."
Continued from here.
Dean could not allow himself to think as he drove of the reasons why Cas would not come when he called. He hoped against hope that it was just that Cas was very busy trying to close the gate or prevent the opening of another gate, but as time passed, that possibility seemed less and less likely. Cas would always come to him, always. Always. Either he was imprisoned somehow, or ....
If the gate to heaven was really open again, then surely the apocalypse was back on schedule and Michael or one of his flunkies would be popping in at any moment to try to force Dean to say yes to Michael. He kept an eye out for angels appearing out of nowhere, but nothing so far. He wished he could take this for a good sign, but somehow it felt like the worst sign of all.
Sam was with half the hunters, headed for the gate to hell, since the angels would have to get that one open to let Lucifer out if they really wanted to stage the apocalypse again, and why would they work so hard to get heaven’s gate open if that wasn’t their aim? The rest of the hunters were on their way to heaven’s gate with Dean. Truth be told, most of them were jazzed about having some world-saving to do again. Dean might have been, too, once upon a time. Now all he could think about was Cas. His eyes filled with tears and he forced them down yet again. He couldn’t afford to think about it. He just couldn’t.
All the hunters with Dean caravaned the whole way, parked outside the Lubbock skyscraper that had been built over the gate, and gathered outside to decide who would go in first. The streets seemed oddly deserted for a Monday.
“Me,” Dean said without hesitation. “I go in first.”
“I’m with you,” said Bobby.
“Me, too--you need me,” said Anna.
Dean nodded shortly and headed for the loading door they used when they closed the gate the first time. Between them, the hunters had all the materials for the spell, and Frank even thought he had a way to make it work better this time while they tried to figure out what went wrong last time and how the angels got through, so the rest of the hunters started gathering all the ingredients out of their trunks and making contingency plans. Dean left them to it and went inside.
It looked just like he remembered. It seemed like yesterday that they’d closed the gate, and in fact, it had only been a few years. The one reason they’d been so successful last time was the element of surprise--the angels didn’t think they had the means to do it, not knowing they had Anna--reawakened to her angel memories--on their side to feed them information, so they met with no resistance until the spell was almost finished. They would have no such luck this time, not to mention that Anna was just now saying the same spell might not work twice, if they’d figured out how to reopen the gate. They were heading down the stairs into the basement. Dean turned back to ask if she had any better ideas, only to find she wasn’t there. Neither was Bobby. Oh, fuck. “Anna?” he called. It echoed up the staircase. No answer.
Dean could run out to the parking lot and try to warn everybody that the angels were already onto them, but chances were the hunters already knew that by now, and Dean probably wouldn’t make it out the door, anyway. He took out his phone to send a text, only to find it on the fritz. The way to keep everyone safest was to forge ahead. He was the one the angels wanted. If they got him, maybe they’d leave everyone else alone and let them go in peace.
It was hardly the first time he’d walked into danger, into a trap, facing possible--likely--death, but somehow it felt worse than all those other times, even worse than the hellhounds, more ... hopeless. Even more hopeless than that. The thing was, he and Sam had determined never, ever to say yes to those bastards, no matter what. They could torture him, kill him, whatever they wanted ... but he still wouldn’t say yes. Sam had always been his Achilles heel, as Dean had been Sam’s, but the angels needed both Sam and Dean to throw their apocalypse party, so Sam and Dean had nothing to lose, no matter what the angels did to either of them. Although this could get bad, it couldn’t get that bad. So why couldn’t he shake this feeling?
To his surprise, though he’d expected at least one or two junkless pricks to be waiting for him, the basement was empty. He drew out an angel blade--one of several he had in his jacket--just in case, and crept between the boxes full of old files and accounting the businesses in this building innocently stored down here. The sigils holding the gate closed--drawn on the wall, hidden behind stacks of innocuous-looking boxes--were burned away, and Dean was now sure the gate was open and angels were flooding into the world once again, wreaking havoc on human lives, determined to restart the apocalypse and decimate the world, or at least a pretty big chunk of it.
He proceeded through every corner of the basement, finding nothing. Was it possible this wasn’t some kind of setup by Michael and Raphael, but was instead a new trick Gabriel was playing? Baffled, he finally relaxed a little, turned and headed for the door, and then the angel blade fell from his hand and hit the cement floor with a loud clatter.
There, against the opposite wall, stood Cas, drooping, appearing exhausted. Angel blades were in the wall beside him, as if they’d been thrown like knives. Dean ran to him and cupped his face. “Cas! Oh, my God, Cas! Are you okay??” He looked him over quickly, and found nothing amiss. If they’d thrown the angel blades at him, they’d missed. “What happened?? Never mind; let’s get you out of here.”
He pulled on him, but Cas let out a yelp. “No!” he cried, his voice rough and grating. “Please ....”
“Cas! What--?” Something flickered against the wall, and then Dean could see his wings, as black and visible as before, only white light shone out of them in places--the places where the angel blades were impaled into the wall ... through Cas’s wings. Suddenly Dean couldn’t feel his body. “Oh, my God.”
Those bastards had pinned Cas to the wall by his wings, driving angel blades through them--the only thing that could stop an angel. Dean’s vision swam red as he thought vaguely about what he would do to those sons of bitches as soon as he saw one. First things first: he had to get Cas out of here, now. He wrenched at one of the angel blades, but it was embedded deeply into the cement. He braced one leg against the wall, then both, yanking with all his might, but nothing happened. He thought he might have felt it budge a tiny bit when he heard an unfamiliar voice.
“I knew you’d come.”
Dean dropped to his feet and whirled to face whoever it was, drawing another angel blade from his jacket. He didn’t recognize the guy, a young man who looked ... well, actually, he looked kind of like Dean. “Let him go!” Dean shouted instantly, pointing to Cas.
The young man smiled, turning to walk a couple of steps, the very picture of relaxation and victory. “Castiel tried to keep his association with you a secret, but when I saw it in his eyes ....” He shook his head and laughed softly. “I couldn’t believe it. An angel, fornicating with a human--with my vessel, no less. The impudence. Castiel.” He shook his head and tsked. “Is there no law you won’t so shamelessly flout?”
“Michael,” Dean breathed. Of course it had to be Michael.
“I suppose my vessel was already as thoroughly sullied as he could have been before you even got to him,” Michael went on, “but brother, truly, what has become of you? You used to be so obedient, and now, you are a travesty where once was an angel who had the potential to become one of my most devoted officers. You might even eventually have made archangel.”
Dean glanced back at Cas, who was only barely able to raise his face, lined with pain. Dean took a step forward, brandishing the angel blade. “You let him go, you son of a bitch! Then we’ll talk!”
Angels could disappear and reappear anywhere; Michael obviously didn’t consider Dean and his angel blade much of a threat. Michael tilted his head, observing Dean scientifically, like a new species of animal. “It is as you thought, brother. He did love you enough to come for you.”
When Cas spoke, his voice was soft and pleading, with no thought for himself. “Please let him go, brother. Please.”
Michael smiled. “But I did all of this to bring him here so that he would finally become my vessel, as has been the plan from the beginning of time.”
“He will never say yes,” Cas grated out. From the weakness in his voice and the way he drooped, hanging from the angel blades, Dean guessed he’d probably been here pretty much since he left them at the restaurant. Angel blades pinioning him to a wall were about the only thing that could prevent him from being able to come when Dean called. He’d probably been trapped here like this all that time. Dean burned with rage ... and guilt. They could have come in the night, as soon as Dean realized the gate must be open, instead of waiting until morning to head out. Dean could at least have come on his own. Why hadn’t he??
Michael had the faintest expression of regret. “Then I suppose there is no reason to let a rebel like you live any longer.” Suddenly appearing right in front of Cas, he put his hand on Cas’s forehead. Dean had seen powerful angels kill other angels this way. Michael was as powerful as they came. “Goodbye, brother.”
“NO!” Dean yelled, coming at Michael’s back with the angel blade. Without even looking behind him, Michael caught the blade and swung Dean around, flinging him against the cement wall. Dean ricocheted off it, groaning, his shoulder dislocated, but he didn’t have time to think about that now. As soon as he was able to shake off the momentary dizziness, he raced over to get between them, only staggering slightly. Michael amenably took a step back.
Dean held his good arm out protectively in front of Cas, who spoke softly in his ear. “Dean, leave now.”
“He’s gonna kill you!”
Cas sounded like he’d already considered every eventuality, already calculated every possible outcome, and made his decision. He sounded like he’d already given up. “I told you I would be destroyed. Go back to your brother and live a full life, Dean. Give my love to all our friends, and tell them I ... I am sorry I could not have helped you more.”
“You think I’m just gonna leave you here?!” Dean shrieked, still keeping his eyes on Michael.
“There is no other option.”
“Of course there’s another option!” Dean hissed. “There’s always another option!”
Cas went on, unrelentingly logical and preternaturally calm. “Michael will destroy me no matter what. I am grateful for the love you gave to me. Remember what I told you: it will never die; the universe will remember. You will remember. It is good. It was good, Dean. Thank you, for everything. A love like that ... it changed you, it changed me. It changed everything. I have already lived longer than I was intended to. I think I was created only that I might free you from hell, but I received so much in return. God has been gracious to me indeed. I am satisfied. I feel complete, except ... I’m concerned for you and your needs. You must find a new love. You will, won’t you?”
“I was gonna find you love!”
“It was not to be, as our love was not meant to be, but it was anyway. I’m happy, Dean. Very happy.” Dean couldn’t afford to turn around to look, but he could swear he heard a genuine smile in his voice. “I was angel, and I was also human. I loved, and I was loved. It was enough. It will give me all the joy I could ever hope for to see you walk out the door back to your life, knowing you will live it until the end. Even angels don’t live forever. I’ll die feeling joyful. What more could anyone want?”
Michael watched their conversation curiously, watched Dean’s face work as he tried to fight back tears. “No!,” Dean cried.
Cas’s voice was resolute, as if he already knew what would happen, as if he had seen the future, he only had to make Dean see his way clear to following the plan. He entertained no doubts. He had absolute faith in Dean’s commitment to forestall the apocalypse at any cost--he’d seen that commitment, first-hand. Besides, his logic was unassailable. What made the tears stream down Dean’s face was hearing in his voice that Cas truly believed the cost of his own life was minor and easily given--and that Dean wouldn’t hesitate to pay it. “It’s the only choice.”
“It’s not a choice I can make!” He and Sam had promised, but he hadn’t met Cas yet when they made that promise, hadn’t fallen in love. They hadn’t factored Cas into the equation. He couldn’t do this, any more than he would be able to let them kill Sam if he said no. They couldn’t kill Sam; they needed him. But they didn’t need Cas.
“It’s the only one.”
“No. It’s not the only one.”
Dean had an idea. It was the idea Sam had had, the only plan they had, until they figured out with Anna’s help how to close the gates. Sam was going to say yes to Lucifer and take back control, at least long enough to hurl Lucifer into the pit. Dean could do that now. He could take control long enough to save Cas. So maybe they’d been able to make him say yes, but Sam would never give in, so they could still prevent the apocalypse. Sam would be the one who saved the world; Dean had always known it would be him. It was all up to Sam now.
He turned around to face Cas, and briefly kissed his slack lips. Cas reacted belatedly, taken by surprise by the suddenness of the touch, lifting his head slightly and barely returning the kiss. Dean put his lips right against Cas’s ear and spoke at scarcely a whisper. “When I free you, you get out of here, you go somewhere they can never get you, and you stay alive. I have a soul. Michael can’t afford to kill me, anyway. One way or another, I’ll be all right, but you--we’ve got to save you.”
As Dean drew back to nod intently at him, Cas stared into Dean’s eyes, his eyes widening as he read Dean’s intentions. “You must not,” Cas said sharply, with more strength than Dean would have guessed he could command right now. “You must not!”
Dean turned back to Michael, steeled himself, and looked him straight in the eye. “Yes,” he said.
Dean was disoriented and confused. Vast amounts of information flicked through his brain at a speed that rendered it all incomprehensible. He could see dozens of things in different parts of his mind happening in different places at once; he could hear the voices of other beings. It took him a while to figure out what part of his perceptions were himself, his body, the here and now. It was Cas that brought him to it, the sight of Cas, helplessly pinned to the wall, staring intently at him. He heard his own voice. “That was truly very moving,” he told Cas, only it wasn’t him who said it. “Such a devoted human would be quite useful--especially if he was a Winchester. How did you make him fall in love with you?”
Cas cast his eyes down, the very picture of despair. “There is so much you don’t understand, brother. No one makes anyone fall in love.”
“Cherubim make people fall in love,” Michael said dismissively, “only I can see you are not inflicted with the mark of the heart, nor is this vessel. So I don’t know what madness possessed you, but it seems perfectly in line with all your other insubordinate acts. I really don’t understand why he said yes, but the Winchesters have always been foolish and incomprehensible, especially this one.” He rolled his eyes irritably, as if galled that he’d been stuck with the worst Winchester. “You even told him I would kill you either way.”
Dean’s heart broke at the expression on Cas’s face, a sorrow deeper than any a mere human could ever comprehend--but Michael’s words reminded Dean of his purpose, and he started worming his way back into his body, into being able to feel it and control it--now, while Michael was distracted. “Even I can’t comprehend it,” Cas murmured, “but once I saw in his eyes that he meant to, I could not imagine him doing anything else.”
Michael easily pushed his arm back into its socket. “This vessel,” he complained, “scars and old broken bones and poor nutrition.” He swept his hand over himself, and sighed, slightly mollified. “Easy enough to fix, but you would think he would respect me enough to take care of himself. Why are you smiling?”
Indeed, a small, wistful smile touched Cas’s lips. “Just ... he made up a word once, to describe what you just did. It made me remember.”
Michael shook his head, baffled and not a little disgusted. “Sentimentality, too, brother? Are you entirely human now? Is there no angelic nature left to you at all?” Dean laughed softly as he infiltrated every part of Michael’s being, replacing it with himself. Cas kept talking about how human he was now all this time, but he’d always seemed as much angel as ever to Dean. Funny to think that to angels, he seemed human now. “I will truly miss you, brother. I always believed your innocence would be your strength. Strange that it was your downfall.”
Cas said nothing in response, only hanging there.
“I might even have allowed you to live and attempted rehabilitation once more, but marrying a human, Castiel!” Michael exclaimed, and Dean could suddenly see what Cas had been talking about all that time when he agonized over the crime he believed it would be to marry Dean. Dean had always thought the whole idea it could be wrong was stupid. He didn’t believe angels could seriously have such a big problem with it, but here was the proof. “I would never have believed you capable of such wicked foolishness, Castiel--you, of all my brothers! Even Lucifer would never have considered doing something like that! What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”
Dean hoped Cas would renounce their marriage to Michael’s face; at least then maybe the angels wouldn’t be so determined to kill him the next time they saw him and he’d be a little safer out there, wherever he went to hide.
Instead, Cas raised his chin defiantly and said, “I regret nothing.”
Michael snorted. “You doom yourself.”
Cas lowered his head again, a grim smile twisting his mouth. “Michael,” he said suddenly, as Michael picked up the angel blade Dean had dropped when Michael flung him against the wall. “I will miss you, too. I will miss most your compassionate nature. You were always one of the very kindest.”
Michael smiled. Dean could feel how it pleased him to have his ego stroked like that.
“If I may, I’d like to make one last request of you, brother,” Cas went on, “believing that in your great compassion, you’ll do as I ask.” Dean wasn’t quite sure, but he figured Cas was stalling, giving Dean time to take control back, and Dean used every second he was giving him to strengthen his hold so he could keep control as long as possible once he took it. All he had to do was get all those angel blades out of Cas’s wings; then Cas could fly away and disappear.
Michael stepped close to look in Cas’s eyes, curious. Dean couldn’t follow Michael’s light-speed thoughts, but he did gather that he believed, whatever Cas was about to say, that Cas was utterly sincere. “I’ll consider it,” Michael promised. “What is it?”
“As soon as you can, release your vessel and allow him to go back to his life. He said yes to you. He has given you everything that’s his to give, and had everything else taken away. You owe him that much.”
Michael thought it over. “Once the final battle is complete, I should have no more need of him. As long as things proceed as expected, I’ll fulfill your request.”
The last vestiges of tension in Cas evaporated; Dean watched him sink a little farther down the wall, and a genuine smile touched his lips. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Things were definitely not going to proceed as expected, Dean thought with grim satisfaction. Michael would probably punish him by refusing to let him go back to his life when all this was over, but it didn’t matter; all that mattered was that he get Cas free now. Michael was moving toward Cas, holding the angel blade. It was time.
Dean felt his awareness in all his limbs, reached, and took back control of his body, knowing Michael would fight him as soon as he realized what was happening, but Dean thought he could keep control long enough to use Michael’s strength to yank those angel blades out of Cas’s wings and watch him disappear to safety.
Dean tossed the angel blade Michael was holding aside ... or he tried. Michael continued to advance toward Cas. Dean tried again, getting anxious. Again, nothing. Michael chuckled. “Your lover thought he had taken back control. Is he always this amusing?”
Cas looked unbearably sad. “He can be overly optimistic at times.”
Michael laughed out loud. “I am the most powerful angel in all of creation, and he believed he could wrest control back from me?”
Cas’s forehead creased. “Please don’t laugh at him, brother. He is suffering.”
“I’m not laughing at his suffering. I’m marveling at these Winchesters. I expected so much more before I actually stepped into his skin and saw how little is really in here. How can they be so dumb and still have managed to foil us so many times? Unless ... is the other brother much smarter than this one?”
Cas looked like Michael’s cruel words caused him agony. “They have ... other strengths.”
Ah, Cas. Always so diplomatic. Dean thought for sure Cas must be distracting Michael so he could take control, but though he tried harder and harder, tried everything, nothing was working, and he was getting pretty worried--way more so when Cas looked him in the eye and Dean somehow knew he was looking right at Dean now, not at Michael. “It’s okay,” Cas said gently. “It’s okay, Dean. Don’t feel bad. You must not feel guilty.” He kept talking as Michael raised the angel blade, and Dean was fighting as hard as he knew how, harder than he’d ever fought in his life. “It was such a brave act, to say yes to Michael. I know how hard you’re trying. You did everything you could.” Michael put the point of the blade to Cas’s chest. Cas scarcely even appeared to notice, using every last second he had to reassure Dean. “Don’t be sad. Thank you for our life together.”
“Goodbye, brother,” Michael said, and Dean felt Michael’s genuine regret at his brother’s demise.
“Goodbye, Dean,” said Cas. “I love you, Dean. I love you. Never forget.” This couldn’t happen. It just couldn’t. Yet Dean watched Michael plunge the blade through Cas’s chest, watched his lover explode like a supernova. Dean stared in horror at the imprint of Cas’s wings on the wall--not aligned with Jimmy’s body where it had slumped to the ground, but where his wings had been pinned when the angel part of him had been obliterated. Cas. Cas was dead.
If Dean still had control of his body, he would have sat there on his knees beside Jimmy’s body for hours, days ... weeks, maybe. Maybe he would never have regained the ability to function and he would have just died there, staring, if none of his friends ever came to get him.
If he had started to function again--if Sam, say, or maybe Bobby, had managed to break through the vicious cycle of grief and guilt and denial and made him able even to think comprehensible thoughts--he’d have been undone by guilt and regret and rage and sorrow, useless as a hunter, useless to their friends, an embarrassment, but it would have been all he could do to make himself live through another day.
But Dean didn’t have control of his body. He didn’t have the luxury of hiding away from thoughts or people he couldn’t face. Michael was always there, always thinking, planning, acting, flying, always doing something, and Dean realized that probably snapped him out of it sooner than anything else could have.
It helped that the very being Dean wanted to rage at until he’d decimated him, to punish and wreak revenge on, was right there, stuck with him. Dean didn’t hold back, raged until there was nothing left of him to rage with. Michael had no apology for him, but he was not uncompassionate. “I loved my brother, too,” he would tell him, and when Dean demanded to know how then he could kill him, Michael’s maddening logical responses about duty and purpose and capital crimes numbed Dean until he was almost as numb as Michael seemed to be. Michael was not unkind, Dean discovered. One of the only comforts Dean found there inside what was now the body belonging to Michael was remembering Cas saying how much he loved this, his favorite brother. In an indirect way, Dean could be with Cas by being with the brother he most loved. He could even get Michael to talk about Cas and tell stories about his days as a young angel, when Michael’s attention wasn’t taken up too much with other things, such as the angels’ efforts to open hell’s gate to free Lucifer.
For Michael was busy, commanding an entire army, single-handedly arranging an apocalypse. They zapped everywhere all the time, between the gates, to heaven and back, with no break. Dean had always hated angel travel. It messed with his head and all his bodily functions. He’d gotten to the point where Cas could zap them somewhere once a day--maybe twice--and he’d be okay, but that was it. He had no bodily functions now, but he still hated it just as much. Humans weren’t meant to flick between dimensions like channels on a t.v. As soon as he realized how Dean was suffering, Michael pushed him down into some other part of Michael’s vast consciousness where Dean didn’t even have to be aware of what was going on in the outside world, and told Dean he could do as he liked. Michael would only need his attention, he said, if he had to access Dean’s knowledge or memories.
A long time ago, Cas had given his vessel his life back. Dean had gotten to know Jimmy a little. He’d asked him what it was like to be a vessel. Jimmy had warned him how much it sucked. The consolation for Jimmy had been the access to Cas’s tremendous angel powers, stuff like going back through history--all of history, even before humans were on the Earth. Dean saw what he meant. Michael had access to all of Dean’s thoughts and memories ... and likewise, Dean had access to all of Michael’s--Michael, who had been around to see the Earth cool, to see single-celled organisms form, that very first spark of life. Michael also had memories of Cas, and though he’d never paid the naïve little angel much mind, Dean pored over these memories obsessively.
Another benefit of Michael’s immense power was that it could hone and fill out Dean’s own memories, make them so vivid they were almost real, so better even than going through Michael’s cool, distant memories was going through his own, reliving every moment he’d ever had with Cas, rewinding over the very best parts again and again. Michael pitied him that he spent his time this way, but he allowed it, only getting annoyed when it was sex or their wedding that Dean relived.
Michael tsked at a particularly romantic intimate moment Dean was just going over again in slow motion. “Shameful,” he said brusquely.
“Beautiful!” Dean shot back.
“Disgusting, you humans rolling around in your own bodily fluids and simmering in waves of emotion.”
“Good to know how you really think about humans there, buddy. Wait, what was Lucifer’s crime again?”
“There is nothing wrong with humans engaging in these activities; it’s a vital part of how you evolved. But to see my brother there, participating as though it’s his right to enjoy human graces! I am glad now to know these memories of yours; it’s plain there was no hope for him anymore.”
A little piece of Dean crumbled. It was agony to hear Michael dismiss one of his most priceless memories of such a precious person this way. Michael took in this thought, this feeling, of Dean’s, and at last said, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
“He was human!” Dean cried. “I got him stuck on Earth, and what else could he do but be one of us?! If you’re gonna blame someone, blame me! Cas never did anything wrong. He was so good! He did everything right! So why did you have to--why ....”
Michael’s tone was regretful but blunt. “Any angel who would flout every law we have must be undone. We tried to rehabilitate him and failed.”
If Dean could cry, he would be. “What about me? I’ve flouted every rule you’ve got, too, and you didn’t kill me ... much.”
“The power of a human is limited, but Dean, even you must be able to see that a being as powerful as an angel who won’t follow the rules is profoundly dangerous. The havoc he could wreak, on Earth and in heaven ... I shudder to think. If he were to collect enough power by nefarious means ....”
“But he would never do anything bad! You saw him, how sweet he is--”
“His naivete was the most dangerous aspect of him. Who knows what such a being could do in its ignorance.”
“You’re an idiot!” Dean cried, and refused to talk to Michael for a long time after that, even though, being inside Michael, he couldn’t help seeing his point, much as he hated it. Still, it didn’t matter. Even if Cas could do those things, Dean knew that as long as they were together, he never would. He would never do anything he knew was bad. As painful as it was to hear Michael talk like this about Cas, on another level, he felt a little bit better. It made Cas’s death just slightly less intolerable to know that the angel who killed him truly believed he was doing the right--the only--thing. As much as Dean disagreed over whether it was right, he’d done just about everything he’d ever done for the same exact reason--and with a lot less information than Michael. He couldn’t help respecting it, a little. He and Michael really were a lot alike.
Dean was lost in more memories when he felt his awareness being forced to the surface. He saw out his own eyes again for the first time in what he assumed must be a year, although it felt more like a hundred, but he figured it couldn’t be a hundred, or Sam would have died of old age by now, and Dean was pretty sure he’d have heard about it if such a big wrench as the death of Lucifer’s vessel had been thrown into the angels’ plans. So he was baffled to see Bobby, and Anna, and all the other hunters they’d gone there with, in the parking lot outside the skyscraper, just like they’d been when he walked through the loading door. Most of them were gathered around that door, trying to get in, shouting about how it was sealed shut. Dean heard Bobby and Anna saying they’d been walking down the steps, right on Dean’s heels, and had suddenly found themselves once more in the parking lot.
“They’ve got ’im,” Bobby growled, but Dean could hear the anxiety under the gruff tone. “Don’t matter; he’ll never say yes, but who knows what they’ll do to ’im before we can get to ’im.”
Dean could scarcely comprehend. “What the--wha-- No time has passed??”
“I had many things to attend to, once I finally had a vessel, that were more important than dealing with these humans, so I’ve been availing myself of the fluidity of time, but yes, it has been only a little while since I took you,” Michael explained silently to him. Then, using Dean’s voice and Dean’s body to do it, he addressed the gathering of hunters, behind whom he stood some distance away in the parking lot. “The gate is open, and it will remain so. It is heavily guarded. Any attempt to close it again will result in your deaths. I suggest you return to your homes and get your affairs in order, since you are unlikely to survive the apocalypse.”
The hunters turned around at his voice. “Dean!” Garth exclaimed, relieved. Dean saw the relief blossom on Bobby’s face, too, then quickly wither. He knew. Most of them didn’t, though, probably hoping against hope that Dean was just talking weird.
“What happened in there?” Rufus called to him.
“That ain’t Dean,” Bobby said, gruff voice lined with sorrow. “How’d you git ’im to say yes, you bastard?” he shouted.
A murmur went through the gathered hunters as they realized that Dean had said yes. They looked stricken. Someone must have said it, then others were saying it: “Cas.”
Bobby heard them. “You got Cas, didja? That’s how you did it, threatened to kill ’im?”
“Castiel has been destroyed,” Michael informed them helpfully, “so you no longer have an angel’s assistance, which you know was your only chance of success, since we still possess Annael’s grace. I would like to fulfill this vessel’s wishes and not have to kill any of you, but that will only be possible if you don’t cause difficulties.”
Dean saw the wave of devastation go through the crowd of hunters, blow after blow: Dean had said yes, Cas was dead. Basically, two of the three lines of defense they’d had between them and the apocalypse were down in one fell swoop. It really was all up to Sam now, Sam saying no, no matter what. Only ... only now, Sam had Virginia. Oh, no.
As usual, Bobby couldn’t hold back, even though it was about the stupidest thing he could do if he wanted to stay alive. “You lying sons o’ bitches!” he shouted, lunging for Michael unarmed, held back by some of the other hunters. “You tricked him into saying yes, and then you killed Cas anyway!”
“I have never lied to my vessel. He knew before he said yes that I would destroy Castiel either way.”
Dean couldn’t bear the looks on his friends’ faces: the crushing sorrow, the despair. Worst of all, the betrayal: they were standing right there, looking at the face of the guy who had betrayed them, and all for nothing. Dean wondered for the millionth time if it would have been better if he’d said no and just let Michael kill Cas. Cas would be dead either way. He’d have gotten to die the way he said he wanted to: watching Dean walk back to his life. But then, Cas wouldn’t have known how much he meant to Dean, that Dean was willing to try anything--anything--to save him. No matter how he looked at it, Dean couldn’t see himself being able to make any other choice, but that wouldn’t matter to the hunters gathered here, wondering how Dean could have traded in the whole world for a failed attempt to save his man. “Tell ’em I’m sorry,” Dean whispered.
Michael hesitated, considering whether he wanted to do as Dean requested, then said, “This vessel wishes for me to tell you he’s sorry.” Spoken in Michael’s flat, unapologetic tones, it sounded hollow, worse than if Dean hadn’t said anything. The hunters were still in the windy morning, stunned silent maybe. This was the legacy Dean had left the world: the guy who screwed everything up and gave in and let the world end because he was an idiot. Then again, that was probably going to be his legacy no matter what, so, no big surprise there. Michael asked Dean silently, “Is there anything else I may tell them that might make them stand down? I’m trying to prolong your friends’ lives.”
Dean looked at all his friends, at their faces, knowing he would probably never see any of them ever again. Rufus, Bobby, Garth, Ash, Frank, Anna ... there was no such surrender in their expressions, no hesitation, no doubt. Nothing anyone could ever say would stop a hunter from laying it all on the line to try to save someone else. “No,” Dean sighed at last, and Michael flew away without another word.
“I have told you many things about my brother,” Michael piped up one day, though each day felt like an eternity, and passing back and forth between short time periods as Michael liked to do in order to get more done in a day, Dean could no longer tell whether it was day or night, not like he cared anymore. “And since the day you said yes, I have asked you for nothing.”
“What do you want?” Dean asked shrewdly.
“I wondered ... I have tried to be kind to you, Dean, I really have. Have you perceived this?”
Dean couldn’t deny that was true, and he knew Michael heard that thought.
“I wondered if you might show me the kindness in return of telling me how I could convince your brother to say yes to Lucifer, once we open the other gate.”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?”
“Dean. You said yes. There is no way out. If I could trust you to say yes any time I had need of this vessel, I would release you now and then, but it was so difficult to get you to say yes the first time, you know I won’t be able to let you go until my purpose is fulfilled and the final battle has been waged between me and my brother. You know angels are infinitely more powerful than humans. You know we will never stop until the apocalypse is finished. You can’t win. And, as you have noted, the world doesn’t really seem to want to be saved. Castiel was right; you do have other strengths, one of which is courage. You were very brave to resist, and I understand why you did, misguided as it was. But that time is finished. It’s too late to resist now. Allow the final battle to take place, and when I destroy Lucifer, your brother’s soul will be at rest in the fields of the lord, yours to follow, and the souls of all those who die in the apocalypse.”
It was hard to argue with Michael, especially now that he could barely scrape up anything he had left to live for, if Michael did ever release him. There were times in Dean’s life when he’d have had a hard time arguing with this logic, anyway. There was one thing he couldn’t ever do, though, not even now. He couldn’t do that to Sam. “Sorry,” Dean told Michael. “You’re on your own. But I’ll tell you now, he’s never gonna say yes. Never. I counted on it when I said yes to you.”
“Hm,” said Michael, pleasantly enough, but thoroughly unconvinced. “Well, thanks for your input.”
When he lost himself in his memories of Cas, Dean could almost feel all right for a while. Sometimes he recreated memories of Sam, especially when they were young and traveling around with their dad--when they were a family--but every memory he had with anyone else, no matter how fun, was also tinged with pain. Only Cas had been able to make everything peaceful and joyful and beautiful.
When Dean kept wondering how time could seem to pass so slowly, Michael informed him that angels were able to think infinitely faster than a human being. Dean’s thoughts were still slow compared to Michael’s and he couldn’t follow half of what went through the guy’s mind, but now he could follow some of it, unlike when he first said yes, and Dean realized he and Michael were melding a little, enough that Dean was able to access some of Michael’s powers, such as his lightning-fast brain.
The downside of this was that, after reliving every minute of the two years he had with Cas several times, he’d sucked all the joy out of it, memorized every second already, and it couldn’t distract him from the realities he had to face anymore. Cas was gone. Dean had said yes. The angels--or even the demons--might find a way to make Sam say yes, too. The world might end, all because of him. Sam might die, and all their friends, because of him. And Cas ... Cas had died, because of him. If he hadn’t talked Cas into marrying him, Michael might have given him another chance. There was one memory of Cas he worked hard never to relive, but now it began plaguing him: his last moments, his insistence that Dean not say yes, his crushing despair when he did, his knowledge that Dean would fail, Dean’s appalling and humiliating failure, the way Cas thought only of Dean right up until the end. Dean couldn’t afford to get caught up in these kinds of thoughts, because the guilt and horror and sorrow tore into him like a hurricane and there was nothing he could do about it: he didn’t sleep, he couldn’t drink, nothing. But as he ran out of other things to think about, he was finding he couldn’t stop the torment.
“No,” Michael said sharply as Dean got worse. “Stop, foolish human.”
“I can’t,” Dean groaned. “Cas ....”
“Castiel was only an angel,” Michael said dismissively, “a soldier, a messenger, a servant of humanity. He existed only to serve heaven’s purpose, and he died serving heaven’s purpose. No angel would begrudge such an honorable death, and you saw that Castiel did not begrudge it. At least there was some decency left in him, something of angelic values; at least he did not shame himself by lamenting his own death like a human.”
“It’s my fault he was human,” Dean said, crushed under the weight of his despair. “It’s because he fixed me in hell that he rebelled against you guys in the first place, and it’s because I closed the gate that he was stuck on Earth and had to become human. I’m the one who talked him into marrying me; he was scared to. It was me, all me, but he’s the one you killed!”
Without pity, Michael said sternly, “Perhaps that should have served as a lesson to you, not to close the gate, and not to ... liaise with inappropriate creatures.”
The only comfort Dean could find in this moment was his complete absence of regret for loving Cas, remembering Cas’s defiant insistence that he couldn’t regret it, either, whatever the cost, to either of them. “I’d ‘liaise’ with Cas a million times more, no matter what it cost me,” Dean mumbled, “but ... not what it cost ... him.”
“How on earth did you fall in love with an angel?” Michael said, and Dean could tell that had been niggling at him ever since he first asked Cas, the day he died.
The answer to that question flashed unbidden through Dean’s mind: how they each became a part of the other as Cas remade his shredded soul in hell, how they met again when Cas was trying and failing to live as a human and Dean managed to save his life by loving him.
“Ah,” said Michael, understanding--or at least, he thought he did. “Humans are motivated by necessity, primarily the need to survive. It was your sympathy for his imminent death that motivated you to do whatever it took to keep him alive, including loving him. Your mistake was in thinking of him as human and deserving of your sympathy.”
“You just stop right there,” Dean said, suddenly icy. “Don’t you talk about him like that.”
“You never understood what he was. He was an angel, albeit a broken one, vaster and simultaneously lesser than humanity, unworthy of human love, incapable of understanding it.”
In Michael’s coldly analytical way, Dean knew, he was trying to help Dean feel better by helping him believe the grapes were sour anyway. All angels were emotionless and purely logical like that ... except Cas. “That’s where you’re wrong,” Dean said, not even feeling the need to fight over it anymore, because he knew he was right and Michael simply didn’t get it, couldn’t get it, because he could never understand all that Cas had become. “Broken for an angel, maybe--broken into being a human--or more like one, anyway. The best of both worlds, human and angel. He did love, Michael. You don’t get it, because you don’t understand love, but ... he did.”
“Angels are love,” Michael said coolly. “Of course I understand love.”
“No, you don’t. Not human love. Not like him.”
Michael hesitated. Something about Dean’s absolute confidence shook his. Angels--all except Lucifer, anyway--really did believe humans to be greater than they were. Maybe there was some kind of power Dean had over Michael, after all. Michael left the topic alone after that, but Dean could feel him observing Dean with new eyes now, trying to comprehend this thing that was simply beyond his comprehension and always would be.
For his part, Dean tried to figure out how he could use this newfound power against Michael to help Sam and the other hunters when it came down to it, but try as he might, he couldn’t see what it could accomplish. All he’d managed to do was to make Michael doubt he knew everything about love. He tried to make him doubt himself about the apocalypse, too--in fact, he attacked his confidence everywhere--but Michael was onto him and unsusceptible on every other subject. Still, Dean kept at it, hoping for success, until Michael finally laughed at him.
“You really must be the most foolish human I’ve ever used for a vessel. Your ancestors were superior to you, Dean.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“You keep fighting even when fighting accomplishes nothing.”
This was true. Trying to fight Michael was like trying to fight a ghost with anything but iron or salt; it seemed to pass through him without his even noticing Dean had tried to do anything. It was like Dean just couldn’t reach him, couldn’t touch him. ‘If I can touch it, I can kill it.’ Dean remembered his own words from years before. But he couldn’t touch Michael. “I don’t know any other way,” he said finally. Cas had tried to teach him another way, and failed because Dean wasn’t bright enough to understand anything but brute force. It was like it was his tragic flaw. All was lost because it was the only thing he knew how to do.
On to Part 3 ....