The Beginning of the End (3/?)
Title: The Beginning of the End (3/?)
Author: Rayne (prettypsycho)
Pairing: Dean/Castiel
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Angst, self loathing you know ‘Winchester stuff’
Spoilers: Season 4
Word Count: 2,066
Summary: Lucifer is risen and the end is nigh. That’s not a wacko with a sandwich board ‘end is nigh’ it’s a literal. The angels aren’t helping; the Devil wants them dead, even Chuck’s prophecies are on the fritz. When all you can rely on is each other bonds become deeper than you ever imagined.
Disclaimer: I don’t own them, I wish I did. All these folks belong to Kripke and Co.
Part 1
Part 2
Notes: This chapter wasn’t meant to be this angsty but Torchwood screwed me up so bad I really can’t do even remotely happy right now, sorry.
The Beginning of the End (3/?)
The majority of the drive to Bobby’s passed in an uneasy silence. Sam could tell that something was bothering his older brother, possibly bothering him even more than the rise of Lucifer. That in it’s self told his every instinct that it was something huge, but Dean didn’t want to talk and for once Sam had no desire to force the issue. Whatever was playing on Dean’s mind was a direct result of his recent actions. Even if he did want to talk about it, Sam figured that he was the last person his brother would confide in right now. Not that he ever did much confiding in anyone.
A part of Sam wished that he would just get it over with. Rant, rave, maybe pull over to the side of the road, drag him from the car and throw a few punches. He felt that he deserved it, but whenever his gaze wandered over to Dean his brother’s profile was blank. Very occasionally a shadow of something that might have been grief passed across his features before he caught himself and returned to an emotionless mask that would put even Castiel’s to shame.
Not that he was in any hurry for the opportunity to compare the two to present itself. He was fairly certain that the only reason he had been allowed to live this long was at least in part down to the, in his opinion quite bizarre, rapport his brother seemed to have with the angel. After the words Castiel had pretty much spat at Dean the last time he’d seen him, about serving heaven and not serving him, he didn’t know how much of that rapport was left, how far it might stretch. Now that Lucifer was free, now that Sam himself had freed him, he hadn’t much doubt that whatever was left wouldn’t be enough to prevent him from being on the receiving end of a full wrath of God smiting.
If he was honest with himself he was alright with that, he figured he probably deserved it after what he had done. In fact he would have welcomed it right now if he didn’t know that Dean wouldn’t think twice about getting himself killed to prevent it. And with that thought guilt compounded guilt, until it was so deep he could drown in it if he let himself. How many times had Dean warned him about Ruby? Sam had lost count. From the moment he had told Dean what Ruby was, his brother had urged him to get rid of her, told him that she couldn’t be trusted but he hadn’t listened, and that was a mistake the whole world was in all probability going to pay for.
Sam wished desperately that he could blame his willingness to trust the demon and comply with everything she had convinced him to do on the blood which Azazel had given him as a baby, but he knew that would be a cop out. The fraternal bond he and Dean shared may have been the root of their strength, but it was also their greatest weakness. Ruby had known this and she had exploited it, first with promises of saving his brother and later with the means to avenge him. Even when she told him that a part of coming into his power was the consumption of demon blood he hadn’t listened, not to Dean’s voice in his head, not even to his own conscience.
His desire to end Lillith had overpowered all else, just as she had no doubt planned. He had ignored Dean’s wish for him to not use his powers whilst he was in hell and after his return he had continued to do so. Even the warnings of the angels hadn’t had much effect for long. He had stubbornly believed that he was stronger, smarter than the demons that had plotted his fate and now the Devil was walking free and the world was set to pay the price for his arrogance.
As if he had read his mind Dean sighed wearily “Stop it!”
The suddenness of the broken silence caused Sam to jump slightly before replying evasively “Stop what?” He tried to look nonchalant but the involuntary fidgeting gave him away.
Dean threw him a look that said without words ‘You’re going to pretend everything’s okay? Are you kidding me?’ but his voice remained almost too calm and placating to not be forced “Stop blaming yourself, it’s not your fault.”
Sam snorted and leant his head against the passenger side window, “Yeah, right.”
Dean opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out and so he sighed softly and continued concentrating on the road ahead. He wanted to comfort Sam, honestly he did. Taking care of his little brother was his default setting, had been for almost as long as he could remember, but it seemed dulled somehow. Not because he didn’t believe Sam deserved consolation, he did. Sure he had been warning him about that bitch for months now and yeah okay it really pissed him off that he hadn’t listened, but as much as it killed him to admit it, and as screwed up as it sounded, Sam had honestly believed he was doing the right thing. Not only that but he was doing for Dean, to get revenge for his death, at least to begin with. All the recent coldness and arrogance Dean was more than happy to chalk up to Sam’s demon blood habit, which he guessed was another thing that would have to be dealt with before the apocalypse could begin to be dealt with. The fact remained though that as much as the demon blood thing freaked him out and though he was as mad as all hell at his brother for being so stupid, he could understand. When it came to doing the most stupid, self destructive thing imaginable for his family he identified all too well.
What Dean thought was responsible for the dulling of his usual urge to protect his brother at all costs was guilt. Not only that he hadn’t stopped Sam in time, though that was a part of it, but that people seemed to keep sacrificing things for him, their lives, their souls, and he honestly couldn’t comprehend why. What made him worthy of it? It’s wasn’t as if he lead a blameless sin free life, and yet those he cared most about, the very few people he in fact that he gave a damn about in any real sense seemed to just line themselves up take the bullets. First his dad had died to save his life. Then Sam had risked his soul to avenge him and now Castiel.
At that thought his chest tightened as if being held in a vice. He had tried to push it away, to lock it somewhere in the back of his mind in true Dean Winchester fashion, to be dealt with never. But the moment Castiel had entered his mind he felt like he had been punched in the stomach. God only knew old Castiel was, probably literally, if anyone knew it would be Him. Dean was pretty sure that he could never imagine how long the angel had lived, the things he may have seen, but he was gone, because of him. It had never occurred to him what he was asking of Castiel, what it might cost him to help; all he had thought of was his own need to get to Sam. Even whilst trying to convince the angel that humanity was worth saving, with talk of people and families he was only being half truthful because though he did believe that those things were worth saving, what he was really thinking about was his brother, his family.
The guilt Dean understood, what blindsided him was the grief. Over the years he had lost a lot of people, it was a part of the job, the life. You felt bad for a while, you acknowledged their loss, and then you moved on. This felt different though, more like it had when John and Sam had died. Not quite so acute. Not the gaping, chasm in the chest emptiness of the loss of his father and brother but it wasn’t entirely dissimilar, and Dean didn’t know why. The angel was annoying, demanding, constantly going on about Dean’s lack of faith, but he had also been helpful, understanding and despite knowing everything about Dean, having seen him at his very worst, he had still never seemed to judge him. Over the months Dean had grudgingly come to see him as an ally, maybe even, at times a friend.
He remembered the day on which Castiel had confided in him, told Dean that he had doubts and trusted him to tell no one. His heart sank even further at the realisation of what he had done. He had taken Castiel’s trust and used it to his own end, played on the angel’s doubts to get to his brother. Dean had manipulated Castiel just as surely as Ruby had manipulated Sam and there was nothing he could do now to put it right, no way to even apologize.
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat and gripped the steering wheel tighter, wondering to him self when the hell he became such a chick. The entrance to the salvage yard was visible further down the road and Dean just wanted to curl up in his usual place on Bobby’s floor and sleep for a week, not that he thought he’d get the chance. He doubted the apocalypse afforded a guy much chance for rest and recuperation.
“There’s one thing I don’t get.” Sam stated as they turned onto Bobby’s property.
Dean’s lip curled in what turned out to be a shallow mockery of a smile, “Just one?”
Sam rolled his eyes and Dean shrugged a silent permission to continue, “How did you know where we were? The wards around that convent were pretty hard core. “
Dean swallowed again, he really didn’t want to talk about this but he knew that Sam wouldn’t drop it. “Cas convinced Chuck to tell us where you were.”
Sam looked confused as the car drew to a stop, “But why would Chuck need convincing, I mean if you were there it must have been in his prophecy right?”
Closing his eyes Dean drew a deep breath and turned of the engine, “No Sammy. It wasn’t.”
Sam had never considered himself particularly slow, so he chalked his inability to see where this was heading up to a couple of very bad days. “But,” he pressed “Wouldn’t screwing with a prophecy bring down Chuck’s archangel or something.” Dean threw him a look that could only be described as loaded, behind it was that same haze of grief which Sam had thought he had seen earlier. It only lasted for a second before Dean opened the door and climbed out. Sam huffed and exited his side of the car, “Dean, what happened? How’d you get away from an Archangel?”
Even from eight feet behind him and in the faint light from the porch Sam could see his brothers shoulders slump slightly as his stride faltered, and though it was obvious Sam would never admit to hearing the crack in Dean’s voice when he answered, “Cas held them off.”
The door opened and Bobby stepped onto the porch as Dean muttered a ragged “Hey Bobby.”
Bobby nodded in response, but before he could speak Sam called out “Dean, what happened to Castiel?”
For a second Dean’s stomach clenched painfully as he steeled himself to say it out loud ‘He’s dead’ as if as long as he didn’t say it, it wouldn’t be true.
Before he could get the words out however Bobby spoke, “Been curious about that myself. You wanna tell me why I’ve got an unconscious angel in my bed, bleeding all over what pass for the good sheets?”
Dean’s heart beat seemed to go from zero to a hundred in under a second, “He... He’s here?”
He knew he must look pretty maniacal right now if the look Bobby was giving him was anything to go by but he didn’t care. Bobby Started to explain but only got as far as “He popped into the yard last night...” before Dean was sprinting up the stairs.
*****
A/N Okay so I really did mean for the big reunion to be a part of this chapter, but like I said Torchwood fucked with my head and I didn’t want my Ianto grief to spill all over a Dean and Castiel moment. Next time I promise.
If you want to know what the status of any given chap is just flist me, I tend to rant about my writing drama’s a fair bit ;p
As always comments are love.
Part 4 .