Mercy Comes With the Morning - Continued 3/4...

[elise_509]

Dean stares at the gun lying on the floor, amidst jagged shards of glass from the broken lamp that is toppled over beside it.

There’s blood and there’s sulfur and there’s not enough air to breathe and he’s too paralyzed to move.

Castiel is carefully walking each inch of the room, sharp eyes meticulously taking in every detail that he can as if he were a CSI detective on the case. Dean bends down slowly and picks up Sam’s gun, shaking off the broken glass that rested against it. He cradles the reassuring weight of it in his hand, nickel-plating cold against his palm.

“Was it Lilith?” Dean asks but Castiel does not reply. Dean turns toward him, angered. “Castiel. Was it Lilith?”

“I do not know.” Castiel’s attention does not swerve from studying the scene before him.

“You picked the wrong time to not be an angel, you know that?” Dean snaps. “What the hell good are you?”

“About as much use as you.” Castiel states. He finally faces Dean and though his expression is cold and sharp, Dean can see the fear showing through, barely hidden. It’s the only thing that keeps Dean from returning a bitter retort.

He pauses, at a loss, and then clears his throat uncomfortably.

“I should call Bobby. Maybe he heard something.”

“Yes. You should do that.” Castiel nods, already back to looking at the trace of sulfur left on the edge of the heater.

Dean walks into the bathroom and shuts the door, letting out a long breath. He dials Bobby with a trembling hand, pacing the short length of the tiny bathroom. Desperation overwhelms him as soon as Bobby answers and he blurts out a plea without any preamble.

“Bobby, I need your help. Something’s got Sam.”

“Dean? Where the hell are you?” He sounds far away over the line and Dean wishes Bobby was right here, right now, giving him a stern look from underneath the dirty visor of his ball cap.

“Oklahoma. Doesn’t matter, long story. Have you heard any talk? Anything at all about Sam, about Lilith, anything?”

“I haven’t heard a thing, not a word. What the hell is going on? Who’s got Sam?”

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. I was out,” Dean hesitates, stumbling over the truth. “I mean, I was with Castiel, and Sam was alone, and when we got back, he…he’s not here, Bobby. There was some kind of struggle, there’s sulfur and there’s blood and no Sam. He’s just gone.”

“And you think it’s Lilith.”

“Who else could it be?”

“And you said you were with Castiel. The angel? Doesn’t he know anything?”

Dean rubs his temples, a splitting headache erupting.

“He’s here, all right, but he’s not an angel anymore. He doesn’t know anything I don’t already know.”

“What do you mean, he’s not an-“

“Again, part of that long story.”

“Dean, I haven’t heard from you or your brother in months, and now you’re calling and givin’ me the runaround…you’re not giving me a lot to go on here, boy.” Bobby replies, exasperated.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.” Dean sits down on the closed toilet lid and buries his head in his hands. “It’s just…it’s complicated.”

“Why dontcha enlighten me.”

“Can you just get here? I’m fucking freaking out and I can’t…I can’t do this again, Bobby. I can’t.” Dean doesn’t try to conceal the sob threatening to wrack his chest and the tears spill over into his words.

“Okay, Dean.” Bobby says quietly, relenting instantly. “I’m on my way. Where’re you at?”

When Dean opens up the bathroom door a few minutes later, having given Bobby the address of the motel and listened to Bobby’s assurances that they’d find Sam, Dean finds Castiel at the window, curtain pulled slightly back as he stares outside.

Castiel turns to face him when he re-enters.

“He is coming, then.”

Dean nods, snapping his cell phone shut and putting it back into his pocket. He takes a deep breath and gathers himself before speaking, trying not to appear as shaken as he actually is.

“He’s on his way. Should be here in a couple hours.”

They stare at one another for a long moment. Dean feels like he should be saying something - or rather, that he should have something to say - but there’s nothing coming to mind. There’s pressure, though he doesn’t know where it comes from inside of himself, to give Castiel some kind of comfort.

It should be the other way around. It’s his brother, his best friend, that’s gone. Castiel’s the one who has lived thousands of years as a supreme being and faced so many of mankind’s horrors. Castiel should be offering him solace.

Instead Castiel looks like his world has crashed down around his shoulders, his face blank and stunned.

It’s the first time he’s experienced loss and fear as a human, Dean realizes. The first time he’s worried about someone that he loves as his own, not as God’s.

“We’ll find him, Cas. We always do.”

“Yes. You always do.” Castiel repeats absently as if he doesn’t truly believe it and Dean feels a surge of stubbornness flame through him, pushing concern to the outer edges.

He crosses the room and grabs Castiel by the shoulders, wrenches him to turn face-to-face and locks their gaze, needing Castiel to believe.

“We will, do you hear me? Do you understand? There’s no other option.”

Castiel’s face clouds over and he looks even less assured than before, like Dean’s determination is blind and hopeless.

“Now is not the god damn time to fall apart,” Dean warns harshly and Castiel swallows hard, visibly trying to steel himself.

“Dean, I…” He pauses, having difficulty getting the words out. “You need to understand…I love Sam more than anything. He is everything to me.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth quirks upward, a sad smile giving little light to his eyes.

“You and I got that in common, I guess,” he replies, letting go of Castiel with a pat to his shoulder.

“Yes. We do.” Castiel agrees with a slight nod of acknowledgement. Dean thinks for a second that Castiel doesn’t really think it’s true, that he feels his and Sam’s…whatever it is they have…is different, privileged, stronger, but Castiel’s gaze lingers.

The weight of his look is heavy and Dean begins to feel uncomfortable under the pressure of it. He glances at his watch and then, not knowing what else to do, starts picking up his and Sam’s things, packing up so they can leave the second Bobby arrives.

“Dean.” Castiel breaks the silence suddenly; his voice is sharp and startled. Dean’s hands involuntarily clutch at the t-shirt of Sam’s he has in his hands. Castiel is frozen in position at the window as he stares out at the parking lot. “Dean.”

“What?” Dean races to his side, pulling the curtain wider and following his stunned gaze.

Uriel stands, flanked by three others, waiting.

“What do they want?” Dean demands, though he knows the question is useless. His heart plummets to his stomach and settles there, low and heavy.

“I don’t know.” Castiel lets the curtain fall closed. “Perhaps we should find out.”

Dawn is breaking over the rooftops, rays slicing through morning fog, as Dean and Castiel step outside.

Uriel has his arms crossed over his chest, dark eyes stern and disdainful. Dean can see his nose wrinkle, his lip curl, as if he and Castiel are giving off some foul stench that displeases him.

“And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him.” Uriel rumbles, words turning the air a few degrees cooler as they leave his mouth. He stares at Castiel with hatred ablaze within his eyes.

“What has she done with him?” Castiel ignores Uriel’s greeting and Uriel, in turn, offers him a smile that knows nothing of happiness.

“Are you enjoying your time as human, Castiel?” Uriel asks coolly. “There was an earthquake hours ago in India. Flood waters are on the rise in London. There are murmurs of an outbreak, a plague, in Mexico. But I suppose the price is not too steep for you and your great, true love.”

Castiel does not respond to Uriel’s bitter ploy but Dean can see the shame tainting and poisoning his resolve.

“She is growing more dangerous every minute she is in possession of the boy. And here you are. Powerless, useless in the face of this all.”

“What exactly is this?” Dean interrupts abruptly.

“This would be the reappearance of Lilith, ingrate,” Uriel snaps without so much as looking at him.

“No shit, Sherlock. What I’m askin’ is what does she want with Sam this time? I thought she got what she wanted.”

“Apparently she didn’t.” Uriel retorts, clipped, with an annoyed glance at Dean; he retrains his eyes on Castiel as if determined to keep the former angel in his contemptuous line of sight.

“There is movement. There are whispers. Whatever reason Lilith may have had for disappearing, it is clearly no longer holding her at bay. She is surely planning to break another seal and we cannot let that occur.”

“I realize we’re no angels, but even we could’ve guessed that.” Dean cuts in angrily. “Do you know where Lilith is stowing Sam or not?”

“You are an insolent creature.” One of the men standing behind Uriel responds. His words send a chill through Dean’s body. Castiel finally seems to find his voice, his courage, and steps forward in front of Dean protectively.

“I haven’t seen you on earth in many years, Ezekiel. They are letting you play amongst men again, I see?”

Ezekiel makes a move to launch forward but Uriel puts his arm out, warning him back like a man holding attack dogs at bay.

“We are at war. Ezekiel is a leader.”

“Where is Michael?” Castiel looks at the other two angels at Uriel’s side, finding none of the other archangels in presence. “Gabriel? Does not Lilith’s return raise their concern?”

“This is not a war with a single front. Our attentions are divided.”

“That’s reassuring.” Dean mutters.

“Your arrogance is despicable, considering your role in these happenings,” Ezekiel spits out, blue eyes ice cold and his pale skin flushing.

“My role?”

“We all know what you did and we all know why Lilith wanted you.”

Dean looks toward Castiel, who turns his gaze to the ground.

“Castiel?”

“You still do not fully understand?” Uriel sounds surprised, mocking Dean for his inability to comprehend. “When we pulled you from hell, you were well on your way to being exactly what Lilith wanted you to become.”

“Which was what?” Weakness betrays his words, biting defiance failing him.

“With you fighting on hell’s side, Sam would not dare oppose her. He would even join her. You were her trump card, an assurance that Sam would fall. Not as a trade, not as a deal, not with a secret agenda to defeat her at the first chance he received, but completely. Willingly. Blindly.”

“Dean, we learned of Lilith’s plan shortly after Ruby convinced Sam to begin using his capabilities,” Castiel breaks in, taking in Dean’s stricken face. “We thought-“

“We mistakenly believed that if we raised you from perdition immediately, not only would you push your brother back into line but that with what you witnessed first hand, with the information you gathered during your time in hell, you would make be an invaluable asset in the fight against Lilith.” Uriel stares Dean down. “We were wrong. You were useless, already broken.”

“So you just abandon us? Throw me and Sam to the wolves just because I didn’t turn out to be your perfect little demonic 007?”

“We are here now.” Uriel states as if it absolves them of everything.

“What does she want with Sam?” Castiel demands and Uriel turns toward him, eyebrow raised at his demanding tone. “You would not be here unless Sam’s disappearance posed a threat to you. Therefore you must know what Lilith has planned and you must need our help in order to stop it from occurring.”

“He is human now, isn’t he,” one of the other angels murmurs, studying Castiel carefully. “He behaves exactly as one would.”

“He loves as one would.” Another, still nameless to Dean, replies. They act as if they can read Castiel’s heart as easily as a book and Dean wonders if they can do the same to him. He sickens at the thought of all that they could possibly see.

Between two fingers, Uriel holds out a folded piece of paper to Castiel. He takes it carefully.

“This is where we believe Lilith is holding Sam, for the moment. We do not know precisely what she has done or how she has done it, but she has created a barrier with his blood that we, as angels, cannot cross.”

Dean is beyond alarmed. He reaches out and grabs the paper from Castiel’s hand before Castiel has even had time to open it.

“Is he alive?”

“If she were going to kill him, I do not see why she would not have done so here.” Uriel nods toward the motel behind them. “She must need him alive.”

“So you cannot assist us. We are on our own.” Castiel processes the implications as Dean reads the address on the paper, his mind already racing ahead to figure out how long it will take to get there, what weapons they might need.

“We will be waiting. If you discover a way in which to allow us passage, we will be able to come to your aid. But if you cannot undo what Lilith has done, yes. You will be on your own.”

When Dean looks up from the crumpled note in his hands, the space in front of him is empty; Uriel and his angels are gone, without a trace.

Castiel sets his jaw, determined, and takes the paper from Dean’s loosening grip.

“As soon as your friend arrives, we will leave.”

He goes inside, leaving Dean alone.

*******

There is only the hum of the engine and the roll of tires over pavement, the whooshing whir of air sliding over the curves of the car as they speed toward Sam. The silence is tense and Castiel is surprised that Dean has not turned on the music to break it.

Bobby is regarding them both carefully from the back seat. Castiel catches the older man’s stare in the side view mirror occasionally, eyes sharp and suspicious, and Castiel knows the only reason the man took the rear was so no one had the advantage of taking position behind him.

Bobby doesn’t trust him in the slightest and Castiel wonders, perhaps, if his faith in Dean is a bit shaken as well.

When he catches Bobby’s gaze again, he holds it.

“Is there something that you wish to ask?” Castiel inquires. Dean, oblivious to what has been passing between the other two men, glances toward Castiel in confusion.

“What?”

“He’s askin’ me, Dean.” Bobby states and shifts in his seat. “And yeah, there is.”

“Please go ahead.”

“Why Sam?”

“Why Sam?” Castiel repeats, unclear as to what precisely he means.

“Yeah. Why Sam? You’re a god damned angel and you fall, for Sam? Why?”

“Because I love him.” Castiel replies simply. The matter is that black and white to him; he had no other choice, could imagine life no other way.

“So just like that, ya give it all up.”

“Yes. Just like that.”

“Hmph.” Bobby settles back into the seat and Castiel can practically hear his mind at work. He looks toward Dean and sees that Dean is gripping the steering wheel hard, fists clenched.

“Are you all right, Dean?”

“Can we play something else besides Love Connection here? I mean, as riveting as it is, your schoolboy crush on my brother isn’t going to help us figure out how to beat Lilith.”

“It is not a schoolboy crush.” Castiel stares at Dean, annoyed by how callously Dean regards his deep feelings for Sam. Dean sighs reluctantly, loosening his fingers on the vinyl, and glances at Castiel guiltily before focusing out on the road.

“I know. Sorry. I just…I guess I’m not quite used to the idea yet.”

“I understand.” Castiel lets it go. It must be strange for Dean, to suddenly awake from months of complete self-hatred and involvement to realize that his brother’s life had altered so greatly.

He wonders what Dean is thinking about, now, as they travel miles of road in a race to save Sam. He wonders if Dean is wishing he could get all that lost time back, those months he could have spent with his brother, those months that Castiel spent with him instead. He wonders if Dean is jealous, or bitter, or sad. He is probably hoping he gets to tell Sam all the things he should have said such a long time ago, that he’ll have another chance to get things right.

Castiel’s own thoughts are filled with fleeting moments of Sam, moments that against his will are already feeling painful, tinged with bittersweet regret and crushing loss. There’s the first time he made Sam truly laugh, head thrown back, smile bright and dimples deep, belly shaking from the force of it. He’d repeated a joke he’d overheard at a truck stop, not even fully understanding it, but Sam had found it hilarious and the thrill of that didn’t leave Castiel for hours.

He remembers what it was like the first time Sam said he loved him. Castiel had been buried deep inside, so hot, so tight, rocking slow and languorous against Sam’s warm body. Sam’s legs had been bent up over his shoulders, back arched off the mattress and his head thrown back against the pillow and Sam had said it, quietly, breathlessly, and then clutched at him, pulling him down and kissing, kissing, kissing him until they both came.

The memories hit him with no rhyme or reason, some important firsts or lasts and some just random glimpses. Sam in the shower, Sam driving, Sam eating a hamburger, Sam waking up in the morning. Mundane and perfect, all things he’s terrified he’ll never experience again.

Castiel looks at Dean, understanding something for the first time.

“Losing Sam is what terrifies you most, isn’t it?”

Dean looks back at him as if he’s lost it, that answer so obvious that Dean can’t even bring himself to say it. Castiel shakes his head; Dean doesn’t get it, precisely.

“I don’t mean that your greatest fear is Sam’s death. What I mean is that your greatest fear is Sam being alive yet nevertheless choosing to leave you. That Sam would be out there, somewhere, without you, without your protection, and that he did it of his own free will.”

Off Dean’s devastated stare, Bobby interrupts.

“Castiel, that’s enough.”

“I haven’t said this to hurt you or anger you. I just…I believe that is why I was sent here. I believe that is why I fell.”

“Huh?” Dean’s brow furrows.

“If Sam were to die, you would have attempted to undo it, as you have in the past. And if you could not, you would take your own life. You would not go on without your brother.”

Castiel pauses, choosing his words carefully.

“But if Sam were to abandon you willingly, you would have no options. You would not leave this world if Sam were still in it, even if he had left you behind. Your only choice would be to fight to get him back.”

“Like I’m doing now, you mean?” Dean nods to the road ahead but that’s not what Castiel means.

“I am referring to myself, Dean. I am the person who was taking Sam away from you. I am the reason you finally looked outside your own darkness. I am the reason you woke up.”

Castiel lets the words sink in with Dean and he can see the shift in Dean’s green eyes when it all fully hits, understanding unraveling, unspooling within them.

Dean drives on quietly for a few minutes and no one else speaks.

“Yeah, well…I’m awake now.” He murmurs at last, adjusting his hands on the wheel. “I’m sure as hell awake now.”

Bobby coughs, slicing through the tension, and leans forward.

“So, not to quibble over details, if you were just Dean’s celestial kick in the ass, where does that leave you now?”

Castiel looks at Bobby, then at Dean, not really knowing the answer.

“It leaves me here.”

*******

Sam comes to in a series of fits and starts, fighting to force his eyes all the way open. It’s hard to focus in the low light, everything around him blurred and strange. Light is flickering like fire and he knows there must be candles. It’s far too cold for there to be a fireplace.

His skin is icy and he realizes he’s shivering long before he realizes he’s in pain, or that he’s tied down. He attempts to struggle against the bindings that rope him to the chair, but his limbs are leaden. It takes every ounce of energy he has to try to lift his arm, shift his leg.

“Hush, Sammy.” Her lips are on his neck and those are abruptly warm. He almost can’t resist pressing closer to her, desperate for some kind of heat, but he manages to jerk his head away despite the need. “Relax. The worst part is over. You’ll be good as new in no time.”

Her promise startles him and he looks down at his body. Both his wrists are gashed deeply and stitched closed, and there are spatters of blood on the stone floor, but not enough for the amount of blood he would have lost with such injuries.

He tries to concentrate, to pull up the power inside of him and force Lilith from her human body, but nothing happens. It’s like turning a key in an engine that sputters and won’t start.

“What did you do?” Sam demands, groggy, weak. A stab of pain shoots through him as he tries to twist and look at Lilith, locate her in the dark room as she slinks out of his peripheral vision.

“Just keeping your angel friends at bay. A mere precaution.” Two girls approach, one to each side, and drop to their knees, taking his wrists and beginning to bandage over his wounds. Their hands and their eyes wander and Sam winces. There’s nowhere to go as they touch him and it’s all he can do so show his displeasure.

“Off, girls.” Lilith waves them away disdainfully as soon as his wrists are wrapped. She comes back into view, arms crossed over her chest. “You should have seen them all clambering up to get a shot at this night, Sammy. They all want to see you…touch you…” She tangles a hand in his hair, tugging slightly. “The Boy King, Azazel’s Chosen One…never mind the fact that you could send them right back with one carefully trained thought.” Lilith pauses, considering something with a smile. “I suppose that’s part of the appeal…the danger. Even demons like the bad boys.”

“Where are Dean and Castiel?” Sam demands, beginning to think Lilith never had them to begin with, and her grin makes that suspicion grow.

“I’m sure they’re at your motel room, worrying their pretty little heads over where you’ve gone off to.” She shrugs. “We got some blood on the carpet, that’s bound to send them through the roof.” Lilith rubs a finger over the cut crossing Sam’s forehead. “When you fall, you fall hard, Sammy. Ouch.” She places a gentle kiss against his skin. “I’ll make it all better.”

“What do you want from me?”

“What I’ve always wanted. I tried to kill you…didn’t work. I tried getting at you through your brother…didn’t work. I tried taking your power as mine…really didn’t work.” Her hand, roped in his hair again, presses against the place where he’d been hit earlier and Sam bites his lip hard, holding back a groan of pain. “You’re a tough nut to crack, Sam Winchester. You haven’t left me with a lot of options.”

Lilth circles around him and then abruptly straddles his lap, slides her hands firmly up his chest. Sam pulls back as much as he can but there’s really nowhere to go.

“One good thing I found, though, is that Azazel could keep the angels at bay.” She nods at Sam’s perplexed look. “Why do you think the angels didn’t stop all this sooner? Back in Cold Oak, when all you crazy kids were fighting it out? Would’ve been easy enough to wipe all of you off the map, smite the whole place. Problem solved.

“But they couldn’t…they didn’t even know what was happening until Azazel left you for dead…and y’know, then, most of ‘em were actually thrilled that you’d bought the farm. One less bomb, waiting to go off. ‘Course, Dean did us all a big favor in bringing you back…”

A mock pout pushes out her bottom lip and she whines against his ear.

“Little Deanie just couldn’t go on without you, Sammy. But truthfully? Neither could this war.”

Lilith squirms on Sam’s lap, pressing closer.

“Azazel really knew what he was doing with you, Sammy Sam Sam. You’re the perfect weapon…just gotta find the right…trigger.”

She pushes intimately against him and brushes her lips over his.

“When you were in me, Sammy…” She practically moans, filthy and lustful. “Your blood, once you know what you’re doing with it…those angels didn’t have a clue how to get to me. And now I have enough of you all over this place to keep them out.” Turning his face away from hers, with his eyes adjusting to the low light, Sam can make out the sigils painted on the stone walls of the crypt in what he now knows is his own blood. “And every seal I go to, every one I break? You’re gonna be with me, Sam.”

“Dean will still find me. You can’t keep him out.” He leaves Castiel out of it; she hasn’t mentioned his fall and if she doesn’t know, he’s not about to tell her. Letting her think Castiel is still an angel could be to his benefit.

“What is Dean going to do? He can’t hurt me.” Lilith grabs him by the chin and yanks his face back toward hers. “And if you agree to work with me, Sammy, no one will hurt him. He can walk away. Free. I can even make him forget it all.”

Sam’s breath hitches and he knows Lilith can feel it, see it all over his face. For one split second, he considers it. Giving in and letting Dean go.

“You’d like that for him, wouldn’t you? Make him all clean again, all pure? No bad, awful memories keeping him up at night? He’d sleep like a baby, Sammy. I could give him a whole new life, one where he wouldn’t even know about all this. He’d think the world was a shiny, happy place.”

“Yeah, until you end it.” Sam snaps, finding his anger again. Lilith shrugs, leaning back and looking down at him.

“Ignorance is bliss. He wouldn’t even see it coming. He might even have time to find a girl, pop out a couple of kids. World’s not ending tomorrow, you know.”

“No deal.”

“Sam, Sam…” Lilith climbs off of him and signals someone in the shadows. A large man, bulk of muscle and black eyes, comes toward him and throws his huge fist into the side of Sam’s face. “When will you learn? It’s only a matter of time before I win. Heaven can’t stop me from breaking those seals. It’s almost comical, them running out of fingers to stick in the dam when it’s the rain that’s gonna make them drown.”

Sam bears the brunt of another forceful punch that makes his vision go blurry again. Lilith is in front of him when his eyes clear.

“Time to pick the right side, Sam. I can give you the world. Anything you’ve ever wanted.” Her hands are all over him again, fingernails raking bare skin, and the sensation is so disgusting that his stomach nearly turns.

“They’re all watching, waiting, Sammy.” She kisses him and then turns her head, nodding toward the shadows, which seems to be moving, undulating beyond the flicker of candlelight. Her hands are sliding lower and Sam’s body recoils, tension pulling every muscle in his body taut.

“Those that believe in you, those that follow me…would be joined. All of hell under our banner. We would be unstoppable. Lucifer would repay our allegiance with unimaginable rewards.”

“Never.” Sam grits out, lifting his chin in defiance even as her hands ply at his thighs, rub between his legs.

“You’ll put out for that slut Ruby and that second rate angel of yours, but you’re going to turn me down?” Lilith punches him herself this time, far less sting but more anger. “You have no idea what you’re passing up. This is your chance to have everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

“This is a nightmare, not a dream.”

“Nightmares are dreams, Sammy, you’re just too stupid to know the difference. Nightmares are what you really want, deep down, at the core of who you truly are.” Her fingers clutch as his biceps and her nails tear at his flesh; he can feel it ripping painfully. “I’ll give you some time to think about it. Maybe you’ll change your mind.”

She climbs off of him and she’s gone, leaving him with the brute and his two fists.

*******

“A church?” Dean ducks his head and looks out the windshield, disbelief raising his voice by about two octaves. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Lilith has barred angels from a House of the Lord. It is the ultimate slap in the face of God.” Castiel gets out of the car and stands, staring, at the Gothic spires lit up in stark white light against the night sky.

“I thought demons couldn’t even go in churches.”

“Jim Murphy would beg to differ,” Bobby comments and Dean feels the dig. His thoughts were too focused on Sam to remember even the most blatant of facts and the pastor’s murder at Meg’s hands comes glaring back to him as if it’d just happened, his father’s face at hearing the news crystal clear in his mind.

“So what do we do?” Castiel turns to face Dean and Bobby expectantly.

“You’re asking us?”

“You have the experience.”

“You’ve got about two thousand years on us, buddy,” Bobby remarks and Castiel nods, looking over his shoulder at the steps leading up to the church.

“And not a single tool at my disposal. Everything that I know how to do is based on the premise of being an angel. Since I am an angel no longer, I am merely a human with a lot of memories and no abilities. The methods of angels are useless in the hands of man.”

“Great.” Dean sighs, sticking his hands in his pockets. He looks at the church as well, a deepening sense of foreboding chilling his veins. He shakes it off, determined not to think the worst, then turns and goes to the trunk. He pops it open and Bobby joins him by his side. “So what d’we do, Bobby?”

Bobby lifts his ball cap slightly up off his forehead and considers, surveying the weapons, books, and tools at their disposal.

“Demons like a good show but I doubt she has Sam tied up on the altar or anything like that. There’s a flair for the dramatic and then there’s giving yourself a weak ass position. All those windows, all those entrances and exits, she won’t be in the cathedral. My bet’s on her goin’ undergound. If this place has a basement, a crypt, that’s where she’s gonna be.”

“So, what, we just go in there, guns blazing, grab Sam and run for it?” Dean proposes. “’Cause that’s about all I got.”

“We have the hex bags so we might still have the element of surprise,” Bobby shrugs even though they both know the idea won’t hold water.

Castiel pulls the hex bag from his pocket that Dean had tossed to him a few hundred miles back.

“Lilith may not know for a fact that we are here, but she must know that we are coming. There was no other course of action. Our arrival will not be a surprise. She is waiting.”

“Aren’t you a Debbie Downer,” Dean mutters. “That won’t work, clearly, so surprising the shit outta her is not an option. We still have the knife, so we have a fighting chance. Maybe we just have to risk it anyway.”

“Maybe I should go in first.”

Bobby and Dean look at Castiel, surprised by his suggestion.

“I thought you were leaving the planning to us,” Dean comments.

“Lilith knows who I am. Whether or not she knows I have fallen, I do not know. The method of my exile was not of the normal sort. I was let go quietly and was left to the earth on my own.”

“You’re just going to hope she thinks you’re still hyped up on God?”

“Even if she knows, Dean, a fallen angel might be enough to distract her. It could give us time.” Bobby sides with Castiel, sparking to the suggestion. Dean eyes them both sternly.

“No.”

“What other option do we have, Dean?”

“We can’t…” Dean stares at Castiel, unable to find the right words. “If Sam loses…Sam’s lost enough. It’s too big a risk.”

“Is it better to let Sam die?” Bobby counters. “’Cause Dean, we’re runnin’ out of both ideas and time and unless you’re gonna come up with somethin’ better right quick, I’d say that Cas’ plan here is the best thing we got.”

Dean grits his teeth, locking his jaw, and stares at a traffic light in the distance, bobbing in the wind, until the neon green light switches to yellow, then to red.

“Fine. You two focus on getting Sam. I’m gonna kill this bitch and end this once and for all.” Dean grabs the knife from the trunk and slides it into his inside jacket pocket, close to his wildly beating heart. He can feel the danger pulsing in his blood in a way it hasn’t since the last time they’d faced this enemy.

This time it’s not his own soul on the line, but Sam’s life, and it seems so much worse.

He and Bobby arm themselves with every weapon they can carry, planning for every possibility. Dean hands Castiel a flask of holy water but Castiel refuses.

“I will enter the lion’s den unarmed. I will offer myself and all that I know to her in exchange for Sam’s freedom. Hopefully my presence alone will be enough to bewilder her and my offer will be enough to intrigue her. She must not suspect an attack.”

Dean wants to force the canteen into Castiel’s hand, make him take it in order to at least have something with which to defend himself, but he doesn’t try. Castiel would never take it, even to appease Dean’s concern.

“You’re just going to walk in there and hope for the best.” Dean states somewhat breathlessly as he slams the trunk shut and they all turn toward the church.

“You’ll be right behind me.” Castiel replies. “I have never fought beside someone I would trust more with Sam’s life and my own.”

Something inside Dean both swells and breaks at Castiel’s words and he swallows down the tears that suddenly threaten to fall.

Instead of replying, he cocks the shotgun in his hand and steps toward the church.

“Let’s do this.”

********

The ceiling is low overhead. He has to duck as he descends the stairs, going down and down, further and further, until the light from upstairs has completely gone and he finds himself stepping through shadows.

He hears the murmur of voices and the slap of skin and he can smell the blood in the air, a poisonous acrid scent, but he doesn’t waver.

Castiel leaves his hands down by his side and walks into the fray as if he has every right to be there.

Sam is bloody and battered and every nerve in Castiel’s body calls out to him, urging him to race forward and clutch Sam in his arms, but he holds fast. He keeps his face steady and calm, betraying nothing of all he feels.

They don’t stop immediately. Sam is punched one more time before the demons who have circled Sam’s prone body seem to realize something is amiss and a strange hush sweeps through the crowd. They recede one by one, each scared to find themselves in the presence of an Angel of the Lord.

He recognizes her the second she comes into the room and surveys her minions all shrinking back.

“You have an army of cowards, Lilith.” Castiel announces and he sees Sam lift his head, just a little, and the sight is comforting. He knows that at least Sam has heard his voice and recognizes that he is here.

“Nice trick.” Lilith retorts and advances toward him. He raises one hand and she stops reflexively. He is thankful for demons and their fear, their expectation of punishment. She growls angrily, lip snarling upward. “How did you break the line? How did you cross into this place?”

“How I arrived here is of no importance. What is important, Lilith, is what I am here to offer you.”

Lilith crosses her arms over her chest and glares at him like a petulant but reluctantly interested teenager.

“Yeah, and what’s that?”

“Myself.”

“You.”

“Yes. You can take me and do with me as you wish. Subject me to any torture, rip from me any information that you desire. I am yours if you let Samuel go.”

Lilith snorts with laughter.

“Let him go? You angels really are stupid. You think I’d rather you than him? You’re wrong.”

Behind him, Castiel can hear the metallic slice of a knife through flesh and the thud of a heavy body hitting the ground. Lilith appears not to notice.

“Do your buddies know you’re here, offering yourself up for your precious human lover?”

“No.”

“Gonna get yourself in a whole heap load of trouble. Daddy’s gonna be angry.”

“If I cared about the Lord’s punishment, I would not have come here at all. Sam is my only concern.”

“So in love,” she sighs like Castiel’s a character in a romantic novel that’s playing out before her eyes. “I almost want to take you up on your offer, Castiel, just so I can make you scream for him as I cut you to pieces.”

“If that’s what you would like,” Castiel nods.

“No,” Sam mumbles, off to their side, and Lilith’s smile is pure joy. She moves to Sam, wiping blood from his cheek with the flat of her thumb, smearing it over his own lips.

“So pretty, isn’t he? He has a way of inspiring such devotion…he’s a natural leader, you know. Strong, beautiful…” Lilth lets her hands move over his chest, eying Castiel to gauge his reaction. “He inspired betrayal within hell and now even has heaven falling at his feet, begging to martyr themselves for his life. Why would I give him up?”

“Because as powerful as Sam may be, he is not the key. I know all of heaven’s plans, our secrets. With me you would receive all the knowledge you would need to undo us all and let Lucifer walk free. Immediately.”

“If you expect me to believe that you would give up the entire world in return for Sam’s life, you must think I’m a fool.” Lilith steps in front of him, glaring upward with fire in her eyes. “No angel, however lovesick and stupid, would ever betray all of mankind for only one.”

She sets her hands on Castiel’s shoulders and rises on tiptoe, lips near his.

“But then…you’re no angel, are you.”

There is a stab of pain in his side and even as Lilith pulls the knife from his gut, he is already flying across the room, crashing into the wall and splintering the stone as if it were driftwood. Pieces crumble to the ground around him as he collapses in a loose heap, pain stinging every inch of his body.

“Bet that hurt, didn’t it, human?” Lilith asks, crossing to Castiel, kicking at his ribs to make her point. “Falling for a man.” She bends down, gripping his face and forcing him to look at her. Castiel doesn’t waver from her stare, determined to be defiant even though he wants to scream in agony. Blood from his wound seeps onto the ground around him.

“Don’t get me wrong, I get the appeal, but you angels…you’re supposed to be good. Lust? Sex? That’s ours. You don’t have a clue what to do with it.”

“Sam is mine. Thus I suppose I know a great deal more about ‘what to do with it’ than you expect,” Castiel manages to get out, spitting out blood as he twists his face from her clawing hand.

She slams him back to the ground and stands up, turning on Sam.

“This is what you fight for? This is what you love? This pitiful creature?”

Castiel strains to hear Sam answer, needing comfort from the sound of his voice, but Sam must have slipped into unconsciousness, because while Lilith does not continue, he does not hear her hit Sam in frustration again.

In the darkness there is a sharp cry and another thump; this time, Lilith notices. Her head snaps, her body goes tight. Castiel struggles to get himself up to his knees as her attention is diverted, heart going cold in fear that Dean and Bobby are about to be discovered.

“What was that?” She stalks in the direction of the noise and rounding a column, finds three bodies in a tangled heap, robbed of their demon inhabitants and their human blood pouring between the cracks of stone.

“The angel is not alone!” Lilith shouts, nearly whines, curling her fists and knocking over a candelabrum, sending it crashing to the floor, fire snuffing out and wax splashing in hot streaks.

“No, he’s not.” Dean breathes in her ear as the knife plunges in, time and time again, stabbing her until every last flash of orange and white light flickers dead underneath her skin.

Demons pull at Dean, tearing him away from Lilith. Bobby is by his side, struggling to get Dean free of their grasp, prying the knife from Dean’s hand and stabbing at their attackers.

Castiel manages to find his feet, unsteady and throbbing in pain, as Lilith’s body hits the floor with a deadening thud. He wipes the blood streaming from his nose, presses his hand to the slash on his side, and stumbles forward, toward Sam, because it’s all he can think to do. It’s Sam who must be saved.

He falls at Sam’s feet, hands prying at the blood-encrusted ropes around his wrists.

Sam stirs, mumbling something that sounds like Dean’s name, and looks down to find Castiel pulling helplessly at his ties.

“The markings, Castiel…the sigils,” he whispers through cracked lips and Castiel nods, understanding. The second he takes his sleeve and smears the blood that decorates the crypt wall, a great wind gusts through the cavernous room, cobwebs arching and straining and loose stones rattling.

Uriel and a cadre of other angels walk in like lightning, fast and sharp and threatening. He tries to move, get back to Sam, as the angels advance, but is barred from returning. A few demons turn and make a stand, but most scatter upon realizing that their leader is dead and that angels have invaded, black smoke swirling the ceiling and human hosts dropping like lead weights. The few who are captured scream as holy hands are laid upon their faces, forcing them free and burning them from existence.

The room falls hush in the moment following the last death. Dean and Bobby stagger out into the light, battered but alive. Uriel surveys the scene, confused men and women who’d made it through their possession slowly coming to and mumbling in confusion and dismay.

Castiel slumps against the wall, wanting to go to Sam but unable to move. Dean gets to Sam’s side first anyway, shaking off Bobby and quickly, expertly getting Sam loose. Sam’s half conscious and badly beaten, wheezing instead of breathing and groaning rather than speaking, but his body still relaxes as Dean takes him in his arms, holds him tight.

“It’s okay, Sammy. I got you. It’s all right.”

Uriel walks over to where Castiel is sitting, his own clothes still perfect, shining black shoes spotless as they click with every step. This fight took nothing out of them. The work had been done before they even made an entrance.

What surprises him is that Uriel acknowledges it.

“You will be allowed back. If you wish it.” He states, deep and soothing. Castiel looks up at him, hardly believing that this is being offered, now. He lets his head loll to the side, too tired and broken to think of its ramifications, its possibilities.

“Our sins are irreversible and cannot be forgiven,” he mumbles, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opens them back up, he looks past his former brother in arms and finds Dean yet holding Sam, clutching at him like he’s desperate to feel Sam real and alive underneath his hands and is in need of more evidence no matter how much he touches.

“I’m sorry, Sam. For everything. I’m so sorry.” Dean is repeating and Sam is murmuring something in return, something that sounds like nothing at all, just a dazed assurance that he’s okay, and he manages to get one hand on Dean’s back, holding him too.

“Nonetheless, the offer stands.” Uriel follows his gaze to the two brothers and rubs his palms together once, twice, face down, slowly, and then turns and walks away.

The last thing Castiel sees before passing out is Dean pulling Sam to stand, ready to lead him out, lead him home.

*******

“I tell you, Dean, it ain’t really Sam I’m worried about.”

Sam tries to lift his head from his pillow and turn toward the sound of Bobby’s voice, but his body won’t quite cooperate. His mouth feels like it’s packed with cotton and he can barely croak, much less make an audible sound.

“Sam’s tough. He’s been through this. Yeah, he got a helluva beating, lost a lot of blood, but he’s gonna pull through. Castiel, on the other hand…Dean, that body ain’t ever seen a thing like that before. He got stabbed and crushed and kicked to shit and I just don’t know if that’s the kind of thing he can bounce back from on his own.”

“What are you saying? We just hand him over to the angels? Sam would never forgive us. Cas would never forgive us. Being one of them? It’s not what he wants.”

“I sure don’t think he wants to die either, Dean. We give him over to Uriel and at least he still gets to live to see Sam another day. I think it’s the lesser of two evils, don’t you?”

Sam hears a chair squeak and thinks maybe Dean’s sat down.

“If he goes back to being an angel, he’ll be fine, sure, but that’s not the kind of call that I want to make for someone, Bobby. That isn’t my decision. We should at least wait for Sam to wake up.”

“’m’up,” Sam forces out and though they don’t sound like real words, they’re enough to capture Dean and Bobby’s attention. Sam swallows and swallows again, trying to get saliva circulating into his mouth, and then gives it another shot. “I’m up.”

“Sam?” Dean’s there immediately, kneeling at the side of the bed and feeling his forehead like a concerned mother. “Sam, you okay?”

“I feel like…I feel like someone was pounding me with a bag of bricks.”

“That about sums it up.” Bobby comments and Sam’s sure his attempt to smile a little is entirely unsuccessful.

“Where’s Castiel?” Sam opens his eyes all the way and takes in his surroundings. Bobby’s bedroom.

“I’ve got him set up in one of the guest rooms, Sam. Got a new bed and everything,” Bobby informs him, like the news that Bobby finally caved and got furniture for all those empty rooms is a silver lining in what surely amounts to a whole bunch of bad news. “We’re taking good care of him.”

Sam shifts, pushing on the mattress and trying to sit up.

“Sam, don’t try to move. Don’t-“

“I want to see him,” Sam states stubbornly and there’s simply no room for argument, even though Dean tries. Sam is well beyond obstinate. “I have to see him.”

“Sam, just wait a second, would you? Let me help you, dammit.” Dean ends up shoving himself under one of Sam’s armpits, arm around his brother’s waist, supporting Sam as he gets up.

Bobby clears a path to the door and opens it, then leads the short way down the hall to Castiel’s room, looking back at them every few seconds to make sure they’re still with him, that Sam hasn’t collapsed and taken Dean down with him.

He hesitates before the door and Sam can see the worry in Bobby’s eyes, not for Castiel but for him. Sam steels himself for the worst and Dean holds onto him a little tighter, hands firm on his body.

“It’s okay.” Sam shakes off Dean’s concern as kindly as he can, determined to walk through that door and face what awaits him. He moves past Bobby and goes inside, stopping just across the threshold.

Castiel looks as if he’s dead. Ashen, still, barely breathing. His ribs are bandaged. A clean covering of gauze, stark white, is taped to his side, and a faint tinge of red is already seeping back through. Scrapes and bruises adorn the skin that used to be impossibly perfect and impervious to damage.

Sam did this to him, as sure as if he’d been the one to hit him, stab him. Castiel had made himself weak and vulnerable, and all just to be with him. There’d been a time when Castiel was untouchable, impenetrable, and now he lies broken.

Sam stares. He doesn’t move. The fear takes hold. It’s like seeing Dean in that hospital bed after the car accident. Shocking and heartbreaking and as sharp and sudden an unexpected punch to the face.

He can sense rather than see Dean come to his side, ready with a steadying hand, and Sam steps forward, further into the room. He can’t really explain it, but Dean near him now…he doesn’t want it.

He just wants to be alone with Castiel and with his guilt. He doesn’t want to explain how much he cares or how much he feels. He doesn’t want Dean to see him fall apart.

Sam slowly drags a chair toward Castiel’s bedside. The effort to do so is nearly too much and out of the corner of his eye he can see Dean start. But Bobby lays a hand on Dean’s elbow, holding him back.

Sitting down without a word, Sam’s gaze doesn’t leave Castiel again.

“Sam.” Dean is beside him, hand on his shoulder, and he sounds sad, even a little scared.

“I’m fine. Just let me sit here.” Sam says flatly, betraying all that he feels by so desperately attempting not to show a thing. Dean squeezes his shoulder gently and then lets go.

“It’s okay, Dean. Let ‘im be.” Bobby’s voice is gruff but compassionate. Sam hears Dean’s footsteps recede and the door being pulled shut, but only halfway.

He doesn’t know if they are still there, listening, watching, making sure that he’s okay or if they’re merely curious, but the distance is enough.

Sam bends forward, head in his hands, and lets the tears flow.

*******

Dean’s feet drag heavily as he thuds, step by step, down the stairs. He sighs as he goes into the kitchen, accepting the open beer held readily outstretched in Bobby’s hand.

“Still the same?”

“Yep.” Dean takes a seat across from Bobby at the table, rubbing his stubbled jaw. He hasn’t shaved in awhile. “Three days, Bobby. I don’t even think he’s slept. He just sits there, staring.”

“You think he’s in shock?”

Dean looks down at the brown bottle in his hands, turning it between his palms, and shakes his head.

“Naw. It’s somethin’ else.”

“What?”

“He ain’t sayin’, Bobby,” Dean laughs bitterly and Bobby snorts in agreement with the sentiment. Sam’s stony silence is unsettling. The house is too quiet and Sam seems to be waiting for something. Life, death, Dean doesn’t know.

All he does know is that Sam won’t let him in. Won’t talk, won’t let him see what’s going on in that head of his.

“I think he hates me.”

“Who does?” Bobby asks, genuinely stunned. “Sam? Not a chance, Dean.”

“I’m serious. It’s like…he’d rather it were me up there, dying.”

“That’s not true and you know it. Sam would never.”

“You don’t get it, Bobby. Castiel…I wasn’t there. I haven’t been there. This past year…Sam’s tried, god knows he’s tried. And I just pushed and pushed and pushed him away.” Dean sets the bottle down on the table top and pushes his hand through his messy hair. “I think I finally got what I wanted.”

“That’s simply not true, kid.” Bobby nudges Dean’s beer back toward him. “Sam’s just going through some stuff. It happens. He’ll snap out of it.”

Dean gets up and crosses the room to the window, staring out through the layer of grime that’s accumulated from years of Bobby’s neglect.

“Dean. It’s gonna be fine. You and Sam…you always are. You’re two peas in a pod, nothin’s gonna change that.”

“You say that like Sam never stormed out of the house for Stanford, Bobby.”

“That ain’t the same Sam sittin’ upstairs, Dean, and you know it, so don’t pull that crap. That boy would do anything for you. It broke him, losin’ you to hell, and then losin’ you all over again to the memories of it. But he stayed with you, didn’t he?”

Bobby is adamant and Dean feels both supported and slightly shamed by his words, like he should know better than to doubt Sam over anything. But he can’t shake the image of Castiel and Sam in that library…so innocent, so almost nothing, but the look in Sam’s eyes…

It haunts him almost as much as the expression on Sam’s face when he saw Castiel laid up in that bed.

It’s that same nagging feeling he got when as kids he saw Sam looking normal and happy with friends in one town or another, starting to fit in just before Dad uprooted them all over again. It’s that dull ache in his stomach that happened when Sam set that letter from Stanford down on the table and calmly told them he was going. It’s that explosion in his heart that occurred when he saw Sam again for the first time afterward - taller, older, so different, still angry, and with Jess so lovingly by his side.

It’s the feeling of loss, the ache of separation, the destruction of all his hopes.

“If it weren’t for me making that deal, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“No, Sam’d be dead and you probably would be too. Instead you’re both alive, the bitch who sent you to hell is gone, and the world’s finally lookin’ up.” Bobby replies bluntly and then takes a drag of beer. “So maybe you should just quit feelin’ sorry for yourself and go up there and have a conversation with your brother.”

“Kind of hard to have a conversation with someone who won’t talk back.”

Bobby raises an eyebrow.

“You’re gonna need a better excuse than that, kiddo.”

Dean’s shoulders slump. He knows Bobby’s right. He’s let Sam have his silence for too long. He’s barely tried to break through, only offering weak pleas and assurances, nothing substantial. Nothing to make Sam wake up and see that his brother is really back, back in a way he hasn’t been in a very long time.

He walks back to the table and takes a long sip of some liquid courage, wiping his wet lips with the back of his hand as he sets the bottle back down ungracefully.

Dean starts to make for the stairs but stops mid-stride, turning back around in the doorway.

“Bobby, what do you think is gonna happen? If Castiel dies?”

“Same thing as happens to everyone else, Dean. We’ll have to burn his bones and move on, best we can. He’s just a man now, son. Ain’t much can be done.”

Dean takes a step back toward Bobby, twisting his ring nervously on his finger. His hands are shaking a little less now, nearly a week without a torrent of booze to blur the edges, but he still trembles a little when he’s trying to stand still.

“But…Sam. Will Sam be okay?”

Bobby looks at him for a long moment and then nods.

“’Course he will. He’s got you.”

Dean tries to remember Bobby’s complete confidence when he enters Castiel’s room and finds Sam leaning forward, hand on Castiel’s cheek. He’s whispering something but Dean tries not to listen.

He waits a moment and then coughs lightly, making his presence known. Sam draws back, turning sharply toward the doorway, hackles up.

“Just me.”

Sam nods and coughs a little himself, clearing his throat.

“Dean.” He says weakly, and Dean tries not to show his happiness at being acknowledged for the first time in days.

He dares to come further into the room.

“How is he?”

“The same.”

“We can get the doc out here again, if you want. He said he’d come. I don’t know what Bobby did for that guy, but he’s one grateful son of a gun.” Dean can hear himself laugh nervously and he hates it. Being awkward around Sam is never something he's going to get used to.

“I’m not so sure it’s physical, Dean.” Sam says quietly, and Dean can’t help it - he moves closer to his brother, near enough to reach out and touch him if he wanted.

“What do you mean, Sammy?”

“It’s hard to explain.”

“Can you try?” Dean prompts as gently as he can, though he thinks he still sounds too rough. He’s never been good at this kind of thing.

Sam doesn’t say anything more and Dean wonders what exactly it is that’s keeping Sam from trusting him with his thoughts.

“Sam, if it’s the…” Dean stops, pausing to re-word what he’s about to say. “I know what he is to you, Sam. I mean, I know how much he means to you.” Dean shifts on his feet, wishing Sam would just yell or laugh or do something to keep him from having to keep talking. “If that’s what’s keeping you from talking…I mean…if you think that I care about that…” He trails off, at a loss.

Sam looks straight at him and Dean is almost surprised by the gauntness of his brother’s bruised face and how haunted his hazel eyes have become.

“But you do care.” Sam states and Dean bites his lip, shaking his head.

“Not in the way you think, Sammy.” Dean replies and Sam nods, his focus slowly shifting back to the bed before him. Dean sighs. “Not that I know much about what you’re thinking these days, but I do know that.”

“I could always feel him. Even…even after he fell. Not the exact same way as before, but…” Sam looks down at his hands and for a moment, Dean thinks his brother looks much younger than his 27 years. “I could sense him around, you know? But now…sometimes he’s here, sometimes he’s not. It’s like he can’t decide if this is what he wants.”

“You mean, he can’t decide whether to live or die?”

“Something like that.”

“I can’t imagine that given the choice, he’d go, Sammy.”

“Wouldn’t he? Look around, Dean. Look what I’ve brought him down to. There’s no way he can possibly think this is worth it.”

“Worth it? Sam, four days ago, we killed Lilith. We ended a battle between heaven and hell, we stopped Lucifer from rising, the whole shebang. How can you sit here and-”

“You did that, Dean. I was just trapped there, helpless, Yellow Eyes all over again.” Sam raises his voice and it seems like a strain on his whole body. “Always the reason we’re in the mess in the first place, never the reason we get out.” He slumps back down, defeated. “Maybe Castiel is finally wising up.”

Sam’s eyes go wide as Dean grabs the arms of his chair and twists it to face him, legs scraping abrasively on the hardwood floor. Dean takes his brother by the shoulders and shakes him fiercely.

“Look at me, Sam. I’ve wasted months, almost a whole damn year, wallowing in this shit, so fucking terrified that if you knew what I’d done in hell, you’d leave me and never even look back. And I almost lost you anyway.”

“Dean-“

“No, listen. And know that I mean it, because it scares the crap out of me to say this to you.” He lets go of Sam’s arms, turns away, and just as quickly turns back. He emphasizes his words with his hands, desperate to make his point clear. “If Castiel had a choice, he would be back here right now, I know it. He’s not awake so there is no choice being made. Because you are worth it to him just like you are worth it to me. Do you hear me? Even after everything, Sammy, I would go to hell for you again. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

“How can you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“I see you, Dean. I see how you are and I…” Sam’s eyes are welling up and Dean wants to make this all stop, erase it all from their lives. Sam blinks tears away and then wipes them, one action not enough to make them stop falling. “When I was with Lilith, she promised me that if I came to her side, she’d take it all away from you, Dean. Make it like it never happened, give you the kind of life you’ve never had.”

“Sammy…”

“And god help me, Dean, I wanted to say yes. For one moment, I almost did.” Sam’s crying now and Dean fiercely holds back his own tears. He can’t break down too; he has to be strong for Sam or they’re never going to make it through this conversation, much less anything else.

“You think I’m any different?” Dean forces out. “I was going to say yes, Sam.”

Sam hesitates through his tears, confusion breaking through.

“Lilith wanted me to lead her army, she believed you wouldn’t dare turn against me. And after everything they put me through down there, Sam…I can’t even explain…” Dean closes his eyes and lets it all tumble out, unable to look at Sam and say the words.

“I resisted so long but one day, just the thought of getting to see you again, no matter what the circumstance…the day Castiel pulled me out, if she’d come to me, I would’ve said yes. I would’ve followed her out of hell and right to you. I would’ve done anything she asked.”

He blinks his eyes open and tears spill down his cheeks. It doesn’t matter somehow. It seems silly, even stupid, to be concerned with crying in front of his brother after everything they’ve been through.

It’s still Sam who has to get up and close the distance between them, but once Dean has his brother in his arms, he holds tight, never wanting to let go.

*******

-------> THIS PART CONTINUED...