Revolt Chapter 2: Truth Is Suppressed To Mumbles
Title: Revolt
Author: safiyabat
Artist: stormbrite
Characters & Pairing(s): Castiel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Meg
Rating: M
Word Count: 39,134 / 5,070 (chapter)
Warnings: Past non-con (not described, but it exists.) Violence. Consent issues involving possession. This chapter includes an unsympathetic (historical) portrayal of John Winchester as well as discussion of suicide.
Summary: Castiel meets the Abomination. It goes abominably.
Castiel intended to avoid both prisoners. They both attracted him more than he liked, and he knew that attraction was one of the pathways to doubt and to Falling. He should simply stay away from them and let them be. Dean, of course, wouldn’t let that happen. “I need you to talk to them for me, Cas,” he admitted with a huge sigh. “I can’t do it.”
Castiel squinted at his friend. “The mighty Dean Winchester cannot speak to a demon?”
“She insists she’s Sammy’s sister!” Dean paced in front of his camp bed. “I keep wanting to punch her in her stupid face.”
“That wouldn’t be conducive to gaining information.” The angel grimaced. “But I thought you would want to talk to Samuel - Sam - yourself. You’ve searched for him for years.”
“I have, but it’s - I mean, you heard the things he was saying. And he’s not - he’s not human, Cas. I don’t know if I can face him. But I need to know what happened.” He sighed. “Can you just… I don’t know, prime the pump for me?”
And so Castiel found himself approaching the demon, Meg, first. Someone had painted the entire floor and ceiling of a generously sized cell with devil’s traps; it probably would have been a cell reserved for someone of noble blood. On one level, Castiel supposed that Meg qualified; she had been the daughter of a powerful demon chief, after all. If demons had a noble equivalent, the family of Azazel would be it. More seemly clothing had also been found for her: a simple white sleeveless tunic. “Well well,” she smirked when Castiel arrived to visit her. “I wondered when I would get some company. Grab a chair.”
“You are not my hostess,” he informed her, as she seated herself in one of the chairs and leaned back. “You are a prisoner living on borrowed time. You had to know that your plan wouldn’t work.”
She snorted. “Well I wasn’t expecting my little brother to decide to commit suicide by hunter, that’s for sure.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and stuck her chin out. It drew attention to her lips. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll still get me out before he lets Captain Charming there kill him.”
“You seem very certain. You’re a demon,” he said, uncertain as to whether he was reminding her or himself. “The Winchesters were raised to hate nothing more than they hate demons, and the line of Azazel more than any other demon. You really think that Sam will break with his brother to rescue Azazel’s unholy spawn?”
She gave him a lazy, feline smile. “Uh, Feathers? Did you miss the part where Samael is Azazel’s unholy spawn? Because it’s the truth. He owes me, and he knows it. He’ll get me out before he goes.” She shifted, displaying the swell of her breasts. “I know you didn’t come all this way to talk about little Samael’s family tree. Why did you come down here just to look at li’l old me?”
Castiel shifted. “You are correct. I’m not here just to look at you.” He pressed his lips together; that had come out wrong. “I had hoped to gain some knowledge about what transpired with Samuel between when he left his brother’s side and now.”
The question changed Meg’s body language, at least. She sat up, face a sneer of contempt, and drew her limbs into herself. “’Left his brother’s side?’ You make it sound like he wanted to leave. Like he betrayed his family somehow.”
“He did. He abandoned his family with no warning and no message, not even a note. His brother was completely devoted to him and Samuel left without so much as a farewell.” Yes, Castiel would do well to remember that in the future. It would be better than letting the boy’s good looks and sad demeanor get the best of him.
“Uh-uh. Wrong.” She sniffed. “He was sold by John Winchester when John realized that he’d been possessed at the time of Samael’s conception.” She rolled her shoulders. “I might have had something to do with that realization. I might or might not have been involved with the purchase, too.” She snickered. “Daddy was pretty eager to get his hands on Samael.”
Castiel hesitated. “Demons lie.”
She rolled her eyes. “What part, exactly, do you think that I’m lying about? And what incentive do you think that I have? We wanted him. You had him. It was easy. John was disgusted - absolutely disgusted - when he found out that he’d been raising a ‘monster.’ He’d never been the president of little Sammy’s fan club, am I right?”
Castiel squinted at her. “You’re awfully irreverent for someone facing a death sentence.”
“You act like I’ve got something to gain by kissing ass, Feathers.” She smirked. “Anyway. All I had to do was go up to Winchester, show him what happened, pay him for little Samael and possess the boy. John Boy got to feel like a hero, pretending like he saved the girl I rode in on, and Sammy never even knew what hit him until I was in him.” She licked her lips, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“You possessed your own brother?” The angel recoiled.
“Demon,” she pointed out. “I don’t mind admitting that I had a little fun with him before I brought him home. He wasn’t thrilled with that.” She hung her head, just for a second. “But we’ve squared that stuff away. We’re very close now.”
Close. The thought made Castiel’s skin crawl. He’d heard some kidnap victims became close with their captors. Of course, Sam was no innocent victim. His very blood made him incapable of innocence. “What are his abilities?”
She shrugged. “He’s telekinetic. He’s precognitive. He’s sensitive - he can sense different entities, like ghosts and the like, even when they’re invisible.” She smirked. “He can exorcise demons, he can kill demons, he can put the hurt on a demon worse than any torture Alastair ever devised. That’s just what I’ve seen him do. I saw him resist you yesterday, so it seems like there are things he can do to angels too but don’t ask me for a list.”
Castiel couldn’t repress a shudder. “Why not?”
“Because his experience with angels is limited and wasn’t exactly free” She hesitated, seeming to weigh something, and then pressed on. “You guys don’t like the front lines much.” She sniffed in contempt. “Know what else my little brother can do? He can fight.” She smiled, the nasty kind of smile that a demon got when they were letting their grim side out. “Oh, he can fight, Feathers. I’ve seen him take down demons with nothing more than a little knife and a bad attitude. I’ve seen him take down angels.”
That frightened him. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
She shrugged. “He’s the only human worth getting excited about. So much potential, so much talent, and you people are going to cut his throat and watch him bleed out for your own entertainment.”
“He isn’t human, Meg. He’s a danger to the rest of the world. Although his ultimate fate rests in others’ hands.” Castiel backed toward the door. “Is there anything that I can get for you?”
“A scraper so I can get out of this trap, grab my brother and head for Abaddon’s tribe?”
He shook his head. “Why Abaddon’s tribe? Why not return to Lucifer?”
“You’re joking, right?” She stood up. “I didn’t just let his favorite plaything escape, I brought him here. Knowing what would happen to him. Lucifer trusted me above everyone else, and this is what I did. Abaddon is the only one who can keep me safe from Him. If Samael won’t return to Lucifer of his own accord - and let’s face it; he won’t - then we need to make other arrangements.”
Castiel swallowed. “Plaything? I thought Sam was a trusted warrior.”
She walked toward the window. She couldn’t make it all the way to the aperture, of course, but she could make it close enough to see outside. “Warrior, yes. Anyone will fight when they have to. Trusted? Not so much. Lucifer and my father were close. Lucifer took quite the shine to Samael. He sees Samael as a toy.”
“And you allow this?”
“I brought him here, didn’t I? I helped him to escape. I love Lucifer. He is my Master. But I can understand why Samael doesn’t have the same devotion.” She sighed, shoulders hunching for a moment. “It was different with our father - with Azazel. Samael hated him, but I think Dad liked that. He still taught Sam, trained him, and didn’t hurt him in the same way.” She shrugged. “I mean, the kid’s willing to let the family that sold him to demons cut his throat. You didn’t think it was all roses and pomegranate ices, did you?”
Castiel asked a few more questions, mostly about the power structure in Lucifer’s tribe, before he left her and retreated to his quarters, composing his mind to seek revelation from his superiors. Zachariah came to him immediately.
“Castiel, you seem troubled,” the senior angel said. His armor, unlike Castiel’s, was burnished and bright, untouched by combat.
The warrior nodded. “Dean Winchester’s brother - half-brother - has been found,” he explained, “and he is not human.”
Zachariah froze for a moment, but he recovered his aplomb quickly. “Indeed. I had not expected that the abomination would be found alive at all.”
Castiel explained the circumstances under which Sam was now in custody, and Zachariah tilted his head to the side. “So where is the problem, Castiel? Smite him. Smite him and the demon whore both. There will be no complications.”
Castiel wanted to wince at both the thought of harming Meg without cause and at the idea of simply smiting Sam. He held back his reaction; it was bad enough that he was having these feelings, he didn’t need to let Zachariah see them and face punishment if he didn’t let them affect his judgment. “On the contrary, sir. There would be complications.”
Zachariah’s eyebrows drew together and he shook his head. “How so? The mud monkeys aren’t really given to questioning our decisions, Castiel.”
“That isn’t the case with the Righteous Man, sir. Dean Winchester is conflicted over his brother’s return. We require his support and cooperation, and a summary execution of his brother would likely cause him to resist us.”
Zachariah scoffed and waved a hand. Castiel sometimes wondered how the senior angel managed to utilize such human mannerisms when he loathed the younger beings so thoroughly. “He’ll get over it. The boy is an abomination, half-demon and of the line of Azazel. Dean Winchester abhors demons and Azazel. It isn’t as though he’s going to cuddle up to the kid.”
“No. But he needs to come to that conclusion himself, or else he will resist. Dean is a strong-willed individual.” Castiel swallowed. “We mustn’t underestimate his ability to cause trouble for our kind. His knowledge, skill and resourcefulness make him formidable.”
Zachariah made a dissatisfied grunt and waved a hand. “Alright, fine. Whatever. You’ve been a skilled tactician for a number of years. I’m sure you know what you’re talking about. Don’t let his sentimentality for the boy overwhelm him, though. The boy is a danger. If he needs to be encouraged to remember the boy’s origins, do so.”
Castiel saluted and continued on to Sam’s tent.
Dean had ordered that Sam be given a tent that resembled Dean’s in size. That was probably intended to be an honor, and there were plenty of people who would see it as such. The eight guards - two per side - around the tent, however, couldn’t leave even a child ignorant of the inhabitant’s status. Neither could the fact that Castiel was allowed to walk right in, without announcing himself or asking permission.
Not that Sam objected. He sat on the camp bed, huge hands with long fingers folded in his lap. He’d been given a chance to wash up, like Meg, and like Meg he’d been provided with more substantial clothing. In this case, “more substantial” consisted of a kind of black leather kilt and sleeveless tunic. Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “A kilt?”
The young man shrugged. “They didn’t have any pants that fit.”
One of the guards in the room, a hunter that Castiel recognized as Walt, startled. “It can speak?”
Sam glared at him, but didn’t respond.
Castiel waved a hand at the two guards. “I will take over from here. You may send Bobby Singer. He can take over the observation when I’ve finished.”
The humans exchanged glances. “Dean said he was to be watched by two soldiers at all times,” said the other one, the one who wasn’t Walt. Castiel thought his name must be Roy, but didn’t care enough to read his mind.
“Singer is worth ten men such as yourself. Go.” He banished them to the walls with a thought, deciding after a moment to keep them within the city walls. “Are you well, Sam?”
The abomination glanced at him with indifference. “The tent is large.”
Castiel glanced around. The tent was, indeed, large. It contained a bed and a chamber pot. Neither looked like they’d seen much use. “Have you been given food or drink?” The prisoner didn’t respond. Castiel sighed. “Is denial of sustenance a choice on your part, Sam? Or on your brother’s?”
Sam still didn’t speak, and Castiel stuck his head out to speak to the person in front of the door flap. “I will require water for the prisoner, and a bowl of broth,” he informed the guards stationed there.
“The commander didn’t leave any such instructions.” The guard licked his lips.
“Perhaps he didn’t think it necessary,” Castiel snapped, squinting. “If he’d wanted to mistreat the man, he’d have left him in the ‘justice center.’ Water and broth. Perhaps some bread. Now.” He added just enough Grace behind the word to let the guard know that he wasn’t joking and turned back to the young man, who continued to watch with a blank expression. “I apologize, Samuel. I didn’t know that you would be treated this way. One of us would have seen to it before now.”
Sam huffed quietly, but changed the subject. “Is Meg alright?”
“Her cell is comfortable. She’s been given more suitable clothing. She would prefer not to be confined, but she is not being actively harmed and she won’t be harmed so long as you are cooperative.” Castiel hesitated. “She is worried for you.”
Sam smirked. “She shouldn’t be here. You should let her go.”
“It is not in my nature to simply let a demon go, Samuel.”
Sam glared at the use of the full name. “She’s not here to hurt anyone. She’s more than redeemed herself.”
“She possessed you!” Castiel stepped forward. “She convinced your father to sell you to Azazel, and then she possessed you to bring you back to him!”
The taller man chuckled softly. “She did. Who cares?”
The angel’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“I’m only being held until Dean remembers what he’s supposed to do with things like me. Why does anyone care what Meg did with me after John threw me away?” He blinked. “And Meg didn’t have to argue very hard to convince John to sell me. He was already looking for buyers. Azazel just didn’t realize that.” He shook his head slightly. “Anyway. Isn’t your church always preaching about repentance and redemption? She’s repented for what she did to me. She’s seeking redemption, in her way. Why not just let her go - out to Abaddon’s tribe, who aren’t anywhere near Haven or any other human settlement?” He spread his hands wide.
Castiel swallowed. “She is a demon. Humans can repent. There is no redemption for demons.” He moved closer.
“Or their children.” Sam smirked and returned his hands to his lap. “How is Dean?”
“He’s well. Busy. You know how it is. He commands Hunter Legion now.”
“I can see that.” He glanced at the walls of the tent. “Canvas walls don’t hide much.” He swallowed. “But he’s doing okay? Any lasting effects from Alastair?”
Castiel looked up sharply. “He was caught because he was looking for you.”
Sam sighed. “I’m aware.” He schooled his expression into one of perfect blandness, almost angelic. “He could have asked his father.”
“You expect me to believe that John Winchester knowingly handed you over to the demon he hated most?” Castiel drew back.
Sam glowered. “Believe it, don’t believe it. It’s the truth.”
“And from there?” It seemed too much to be believed, but Castiel had to keep pressing on. He needed the rest of the story.
“I was trained. If you can call it that. I learned to use abilities gleaned from the other side of my heritage - Azazel’s side. Of course, I was always going to be psychic. That part comes from Mary.”
“You don’t call her Mother or Mom?” The fact startled Castiel. Dean, after all, always referred to Mary Winchester with reverence, and so had John Winchester.
Sam shrugged. “I never knew her, remember? All that I know about her is that she died, and that she made a deal with Azazel that resulted in my existence. I’m sure she was a wonderful person; she loved John very much.”
“How many humans have you killed?”
“Humans? That probably depends on your definition. Probably none.” He met Castiel’s eyes squarely. “Most of the time, you know, we don’t fight humans. We fight other demons.”
Castiel could have gotten lost in those eyes. “Indeed? Then why was Lilith attacking Haven?”
“I said most of the time. Control of Haven and its trade routes would be a huge advantage, although demons aren’t prone to staying in one place. She’d have put in a puppet government.”
“Cambions like you?” Castiel suggested.
Sam leaned back a little, bracing himself on his arms. “I’m not entirely sure how Lilith’s tribe is run. Azazel probably would have put cambions in. We’re more comfortable in long-term settlements and, depending on who we are and how we were raised, we’re more likely to be loyal to the chief of the tribe.” He snorted. “That was his way of thinking, anyway.”
“You were not loyal to Azazel, then?” The angel moved forward.
“I had nowhere else to go.” He shrugged. “But I can’t say I was loyal, no.”
Castiel scanned Sam and found no hint of deception. At the same time, Sam wasn’t human. He could have some way of concealing his thoughts or emotions from angelic scrutiny. He ought not to trust Sam, to give in to the earnestness of his voice, no matter how tempting it might be. After all, demons specialized in temptation. “Tell me about Lucifer.”
All of the color drained from the young man’s face. “What’s there to tell?” he asked in a strained voice. “I’m sure you know the basics. Archangel. Rebel. Created demons.”
“Meg says he became fond of you.” Castiel squinted at Sam. “What does he like?”
Sam went still. “Pain,” he said finally. “He likes pain. Every kind of pain.” His eyes went blank. “I’d been through some stuff before, but there isn’t anything to compare to Him.”
The angel paused. He wanted to reach out and offer some kind of comfort, but there wasn’t any comfort to be offered. He oughtn’t to be thinking of comfort for something like Sam either. Sam was damned, no matter what. “What was it about you that drew him to you?”
Sam swallowed. “He said I was made for him.” He licked his lips. “That he’d ordered Azazel to make me. For - for Him.” Sam grimaced and then visibly got his emotions under control. “I wasn’t his confidant, if that’s what you’re looking for. I can’t tell you what he was planning.”
“You’d hardly have been able to comprehend it, even if he’d shared it with you,” Castiel told him, mind racing. “Did he say why you were created for him?”
Sam shook his head. “No.” He took a deep breath. “I think he was planning to assign what was left of Azazel’s tribe to me. If I broke. But I didn’t. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry for that either.” Sam blinked, and his eyes flashed yellow for a moment. “Sorry. I don’t have a lot of information for you. I wish I had more.”
Castiel sighed. It was a human expression, one he’d picked up from his time among the creatures, and one that he knew his superiors did not look upon with approval. “I would not have expected much from you, Samuel.” He didn’t miss the way the young man’s lips folded together or the slight glare, but they were unimportant. “What are your plans now?”
Sam huffed a little. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’ve been reliably informed that I lack a sense of humor.”
Those hazel eyes rolled for a moment. “I have no plans. I’ve already lived longer than I expected to.” He made a face that Castiel couldn’t quite identify, somewhere between bitterness and contempt and a kind of dark humor. “He’s not even going to do the job himself, is he?”
“Do you mean Dean?” The angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You expect Dean to execute his only brother?”
“I figure he’d be eager. I’ll do the job myself if he’s so squeamish.” Sam looked away for a moment. “How is he?”
“Tall. Not as tall as you. Freckled.” Castiel shuddered at Sam’s casual offer of self-destruction.
Sam let out a little growl of frustration. “Is he well? Is he happy? Any little Winchesters running around? Does he have friends? Hobbies? What does he like to do?”
Castiel narrowed his eyes at the young man. “And if I tell you these things, you will try to use them against him in some way. Carry the information back to your Master.”
Sam punched the mattress, making even Castiel jump. “I’m going to die, Castiel. I’m going to die; I came here to die, all I want is to know that my brother is okay before I go. That’s not too much to ask. I’m not even asking that he come to tell me himself because if he wanted that, he’d be here and not you. I just want to know that Dean is happy. That’s all.”
Castiel backed toward the entrance, eyes on the abomination. His mouth felt dry and his limbs heavy; he couldn’t think what might be causing such a reaction. Angels couldn’t get sick, after all. “I will carry this message to - to someone - I must leave.” He left and tied the door flaps shut. “Don’t let him leave,” he ordered the guard.
“Can I give him the food I brought?” asked the one who had brought that food.
Cas hesitated. “I suppose. Be careful, and don’t speak to him. Get in, and get out. He’s very skilled at gaining one’s sympathy.”
The hunter ducked into the tent left his burden and returned in seconds. “Didn’t even look at it,” he reported. “Some gratitude.”
“He’s being held captive and starved, and will be executed. Gratitude is perhaps not to be expected.” Castiel returned to the citadel.
This time he got to meet not only with Dean, but with members of the Haven Council. He recognized them, of course. Robert Singer was there at the head of the table. The bearded old warrior greeted the angel with a smile and a nod. He’d been a friend of John’s once, although he’d also been responsible for his expulsion from Haven. Jim Murphy, the priest, sat at his left hand. Dean sat at Singer’s right. Missouri Mosley, the mystic, sat beside Jim Murphy and Pamela Barnes sat beside Dean. “Evenin’, Feathers,” Singer greeted. “I guess you’ve had an enlightening day.”
Castiel nodded. “I’ve spoken with both the demoness and the half-breed. They were not part of the tribe that attacked us most recently. According to the demoness, there is little love lost between either the tribe of Azazel or Lucifer’s tribe and Lilith’s tribe.”
Dean snorted. “So? They’re still demons.”
Missouri scowled at him. “Boy, I will whack you with a spoon. Only one of them is an actual demon and you know it.”
Pamela sneered. “He’s got demonic origins, Missouri. It doesn’t matter if he’s only got a little bit of demon blood in his veins - he’d still be tainted. He’s evil. Everything inside him is evil. He needs to be put down.”
Jim winced. “There wasn’t an evil bone in the boy I remember. Most of what I remember is a gentle-souled boy who mostly wanted to study.”
“I remember that he couldn’t ever bring himself to follow orders,” Dean said with a frown. “He and our father didn’t stop fighting from the time Sam was what - eight?”
“That would be about when John figured out that he’d been possessed when Sam was conceived,” Singer confirmed with a grim setting of his lips. “He definitely started treating the boy differently then.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Bobby. I mean he was hard on us, but he had to be. Cuddles and cupcakes weren’t going to keep us safe or teach us to fight what was out there.”
Jim Murphy cleared his throat. “The standards, however, were very different for each of you. For you, it was enough to learn to fight. For Sam, he had to learn to fight, and he had to be as good as you with four years less training and half your size, and show more enthusiasm than you with absolutely none of the encouragement he showed you -“
“It’s not like a demon was going to go easy on the kid because he was small,” Pamela pointed out. “John Winchester was a good man, and a good father.”
“I’ll give you one of the two,” Bobby rumbled. “He was a good man who had more on him than he ever should have had to deal with. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a good father, though. If he was guilty of selling his son -“
“Not his son,” Castiel interjected. “Azazel’s son, a cuckoo in the nest.” He saw Dean’s expression harden and regretted his words immediately. He shouldn’t have - the words coincided with his orders, after all - but the regret welled up inside of him nevertheless.
“Whether or not he was possessed at the time of conception, Sam is still the product of John Winchester’s body. If he rejected the boy, he should have found another home for him. Hell, I’d have taken him in a heartbeat,” Jim Murphy said with a vicious glare.
“A possessed person’s blood changes, their body temperature changes, their entire biology changes.” Singer shifted. “It was only sort of Johnny’s body.”
“It’s still enough.” Missouri sat with her back as straight as any angel. “And he still raised that child through eight years before he decided to just shuck him off like bad skin. That ain’t right.”
Dean glared right back at her. “Dad did what he had to, all right? Sammy wasn’t the little cherub you remember. Dad needed sons he could trust, sons who would follow orders. He didn’t feel that he could trust Sammy.” He massaged his temples. “And anyway, whose word are we going on for that whole ‘trying to sell him into slavery’ story, anyway? Sammy, who wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him on the ass, and Meg, who is a demon. Demons lie. Come on.”
“He did wind up with Azazel, with no explanation or farewell.” Jim crossed his arms across his chest.
“Yeah, and every other time he tried to run off?” Dean snorted. “So what’s he want?”
“Want?” Castiel blinked, not quite understanding the question.
“Yes, what does Sam want? He’s got to have some kind of an angle, right? I mean he didn’t come here just looking to catch up.” Dean’s mouth twisted into a bitter smirk.
Castiel pulled at the collar of his tunic, suddenly too tight underneath his breastplate. Why it should be too tight the angel had no idea; he was an angel, their clothes always fit. “Actually he did.”
Five pairs of eyes turned to him. “Excuse me?” Pamela asked him, raising an eyebrow.
“Samuel expects to die,” Castiel explained. “His life with Azazel, and then with Lucifer, has been a misery. He returned to Haven and to Dean expecting execution. His wish was to verify, with his own eyes, that his brother had survived his ordeal at Alastair’s hands relatively intact. He has no expectations of a reunion and is confused by the tent and the clothes. He is not resisting. He would prefer that the demon Meg be released and that Dean be his executioner, but he’s willing to do the job himself.”
Absolute silence met his words as all five humans gazed at him in horror. For once, Castiel couldn’t wonder at their reaction. He shared it. “Maybe that would be kindest.” Pamela spoke first, face pale. “At least that way Dean would be spared.”
Dean turned to face her. “Excuse me? That’s my brother! Are you seriously trying to tell me that you want him to kill himself?”
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you could just execute your brother?” Her eyes blazed. “Tell me the truth, Dean. Can you do it?”
“Who says he has to be killed?” Jim Murphy added. “He’s a sad, traumatized, suicidal man who was once a part of this community. Who we all - excepting Pamela and the angel - once loved and cared for. Are we seriously willing to just write him off because of something he had no control over?”
“None of them has any control over what they are,” Singer pointed out. “We still kill them, because they come for us. It’s not a choice.” He sighed. “At the same time, he is half human. And he is, at the end of the day, your brother, Dean.”
Dean sighed. “He is. I guess I need to face the music and go talk to him.”
Castiel stood up. This was an opportunity to play the role Zachariah had ordered for him, but he found no enthusiasm in himself for it. “I will go with you, Dean. You don’t need to face this task alone.”
Back to Chapter One -- On To Chapter Three
Author: safiyabat
Artist: stormbrite
Characters & Pairing(s): Castiel/Sam Winchester, Castiel/Meg
Rating: M
Word Count: 39,134 / 5,070 (chapter)
Warnings: Past non-con (not described, but it exists.) Violence. Consent issues involving possession. This chapter includes an unsympathetic (historical) portrayal of John Winchester as well as discussion of suicide.
Summary: Castiel meets the Abomination. It goes abominably.
Castiel intended to avoid both prisoners. They both attracted him more than he liked, and he knew that attraction was one of the pathways to doubt and to Falling. He should simply stay away from them and let them be. Dean, of course, wouldn’t let that happen. “I need you to talk to them for me, Cas,” he admitted with a huge sigh. “I can’t do it.”
Castiel squinted at his friend. “The mighty Dean Winchester cannot speak to a demon?”
“She insists she’s Sammy’s sister!” Dean paced in front of his camp bed. “I keep wanting to punch her in her stupid face.”
“That wouldn’t be conducive to gaining information.” The angel grimaced. “But I thought you would want to talk to Samuel - Sam - yourself. You’ve searched for him for years.”
“I have, but it’s - I mean, you heard the things he was saying. And he’s not - he’s not human, Cas. I don’t know if I can face him. But I need to know what happened.” He sighed. “Can you just… I don’t know, prime the pump for me?”
And so Castiel found himself approaching the demon, Meg, first. Someone had painted the entire floor and ceiling of a generously sized cell with devil’s traps; it probably would have been a cell reserved for someone of noble blood. On one level, Castiel supposed that Meg qualified; she had been the daughter of a powerful demon chief, after all. If demons had a noble equivalent, the family of Azazel would be it. More seemly clothing had also been found for her: a simple white sleeveless tunic. “Well well,” she smirked when Castiel arrived to visit her. “I wondered when I would get some company. Grab a chair.”
“You are not my hostess,” he informed her, as she seated herself in one of the chairs and leaned back. “You are a prisoner living on borrowed time. You had to know that your plan wouldn’t work.”
She snorted. “Well I wasn’t expecting my little brother to decide to commit suicide by hunter, that’s for sure.” She tossed her hair behind her shoulders and stuck her chin out. It drew attention to her lips. “It doesn’t matter. He’ll still get me out before he lets Captain Charming there kill him.”
“You seem very certain. You’re a demon,” he said, uncertain as to whether he was reminding her or himself. “The Winchesters were raised to hate nothing more than they hate demons, and the line of Azazel more than any other demon. You really think that Sam will break with his brother to rescue Azazel’s unholy spawn?”
She gave him a lazy, feline smile. “Uh, Feathers? Did you miss the part where Samael is Azazel’s unholy spawn? Because it’s the truth. He owes me, and he knows it. He’ll get me out before he goes.” She shifted, displaying the swell of her breasts. “I know you didn’t come all this way to talk about little Samael’s family tree. Why did you come down here just to look at li’l old me?”
Castiel shifted. “You are correct. I’m not here just to look at you.” He pressed his lips together; that had come out wrong. “I had hoped to gain some knowledge about what transpired with Samuel between when he left his brother’s side and now.”
The question changed Meg’s body language, at least. She sat up, face a sneer of contempt, and drew her limbs into herself. “’Left his brother’s side?’ You make it sound like he wanted to leave. Like he betrayed his family somehow.”
“He did. He abandoned his family with no warning and no message, not even a note. His brother was completely devoted to him and Samuel left without so much as a farewell.” Yes, Castiel would do well to remember that in the future. It would be better than letting the boy’s good looks and sad demeanor get the best of him.
“Uh-uh. Wrong.” She sniffed. “He was sold by John Winchester when John realized that he’d been possessed at the time of Samael’s conception.” She rolled her shoulders. “I might have had something to do with that realization. I might or might not have been involved with the purchase, too.” She snickered. “Daddy was pretty eager to get his hands on Samael.”
Castiel hesitated. “Demons lie.”
She rolled her eyes. “What part, exactly, do you think that I’m lying about? And what incentive do you think that I have? We wanted him. You had him. It was easy. John was disgusted - absolutely disgusted - when he found out that he’d been raising a ‘monster.’ He’d never been the president of little Sammy’s fan club, am I right?”
Castiel squinted at her. “You’re awfully irreverent for someone facing a death sentence.”
“You act like I’ve got something to gain by kissing ass, Feathers.” She smirked. “Anyway. All I had to do was go up to Winchester, show him what happened, pay him for little Samael and possess the boy. John Boy got to feel like a hero, pretending like he saved the girl I rode in on, and Sammy never even knew what hit him until I was in him.” She licked her lips, but wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“You possessed your own brother?” The angel recoiled.
“Demon,” she pointed out. “I don’t mind admitting that I had a little fun with him before I brought him home. He wasn’t thrilled with that.” She hung her head, just for a second. “But we’ve squared that stuff away. We’re very close now.”
Close. The thought made Castiel’s skin crawl. He’d heard some kidnap victims became close with their captors. Of course, Sam was no innocent victim. His very blood made him incapable of innocence. “What are his abilities?”
She shrugged. “He’s telekinetic. He’s precognitive. He’s sensitive - he can sense different entities, like ghosts and the like, even when they’re invisible.” She smirked. “He can exorcise demons, he can kill demons, he can put the hurt on a demon worse than any torture Alastair ever devised. That’s just what I’ve seen him do. I saw him resist you yesterday, so it seems like there are things he can do to angels too but don’t ask me for a list.”
Castiel couldn’t repress a shudder. “Why not?”
“Because his experience with angels is limited and wasn’t exactly free” She hesitated, seeming to weigh something, and then pressed on. “You guys don’t like the front lines much.” She sniffed in contempt. “Know what else my little brother can do? He can fight.” She smiled, the nasty kind of smile that a demon got when they were letting their grim side out. “Oh, he can fight, Feathers. I’ve seen him take down demons with nothing more than a little knife and a bad attitude. I’ve seen him take down angels.”
That frightened him. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
She shrugged. “He’s the only human worth getting excited about. So much potential, so much talent, and you people are going to cut his throat and watch him bleed out for your own entertainment.”
“He isn’t human, Meg. He’s a danger to the rest of the world. Although his ultimate fate rests in others’ hands.” Castiel backed toward the door. “Is there anything that I can get for you?”
“A scraper so I can get out of this trap, grab my brother and head for Abaddon’s tribe?”
He shook his head. “Why Abaddon’s tribe? Why not return to Lucifer?”
“You’re joking, right?” She stood up. “I didn’t just let his favorite plaything escape, I brought him here. Knowing what would happen to him. Lucifer trusted me above everyone else, and this is what I did. Abaddon is the only one who can keep me safe from Him. If Samael won’t return to Lucifer of his own accord - and let’s face it; he won’t - then we need to make other arrangements.”
Castiel swallowed. “Plaything? I thought Sam was a trusted warrior.”
She walked toward the window. She couldn’t make it all the way to the aperture, of course, but she could make it close enough to see outside. “Warrior, yes. Anyone will fight when they have to. Trusted? Not so much. Lucifer and my father were close. Lucifer took quite the shine to Samael. He sees Samael as a toy.”
“And you allow this?”
“I brought him here, didn’t I? I helped him to escape. I love Lucifer. He is my Master. But I can understand why Samael doesn’t have the same devotion.” She sighed, shoulders hunching for a moment. “It was different with our father - with Azazel. Samael hated him, but I think Dad liked that. He still taught Sam, trained him, and didn’t hurt him in the same way.” She shrugged. “I mean, the kid’s willing to let the family that sold him to demons cut his throat. You didn’t think it was all roses and pomegranate ices, did you?”
Castiel asked a few more questions, mostly about the power structure in Lucifer’s tribe, before he left her and retreated to his quarters, composing his mind to seek revelation from his superiors. Zachariah came to him immediately.
“Castiel, you seem troubled,” the senior angel said. His armor, unlike Castiel’s, was burnished and bright, untouched by combat.
The warrior nodded. “Dean Winchester’s brother - half-brother - has been found,” he explained, “and he is not human.”
Zachariah froze for a moment, but he recovered his aplomb quickly. “Indeed. I had not expected that the abomination would be found alive at all.”
Castiel explained the circumstances under which Sam was now in custody, and Zachariah tilted his head to the side. “So where is the problem, Castiel? Smite him. Smite him and the demon whore both. There will be no complications.”
Castiel wanted to wince at both the thought of harming Meg without cause and at the idea of simply smiting Sam. He held back his reaction; it was bad enough that he was having these feelings, he didn’t need to let Zachariah see them and face punishment if he didn’t let them affect his judgment. “On the contrary, sir. There would be complications.”
Zachariah’s eyebrows drew together and he shook his head. “How so? The mud monkeys aren’t really given to questioning our decisions, Castiel.”
“That isn’t the case with the Righteous Man, sir. Dean Winchester is conflicted over his brother’s return. We require his support and cooperation, and a summary execution of his brother would likely cause him to resist us.”
Zachariah scoffed and waved a hand. Castiel sometimes wondered how the senior angel managed to utilize such human mannerisms when he loathed the younger beings so thoroughly. “He’ll get over it. The boy is an abomination, half-demon and of the line of Azazel. Dean Winchester abhors demons and Azazel. It isn’t as though he’s going to cuddle up to the kid.”
“No. But he needs to come to that conclusion himself, or else he will resist. Dean is a strong-willed individual.” Castiel swallowed. “We mustn’t underestimate his ability to cause trouble for our kind. His knowledge, skill and resourcefulness make him formidable.”
Zachariah made a dissatisfied grunt and waved a hand. “Alright, fine. Whatever. You’ve been a skilled tactician for a number of years. I’m sure you know what you’re talking about. Don’t let his sentimentality for the boy overwhelm him, though. The boy is a danger. If he needs to be encouraged to remember the boy’s origins, do so.”
Castiel saluted and continued on to Sam’s tent.
Dean had ordered that Sam be given a tent that resembled Dean’s in size. That was probably intended to be an honor, and there were plenty of people who would see it as such. The eight guards - two per side - around the tent, however, couldn’t leave even a child ignorant of the inhabitant’s status. Neither could the fact that Castiel was allowed to walk right in, without announcing himself or asking permission.
Not that Sam objected. He sat on the camp bed, huge hands with long fingers folded in his lap. He’d been given a chance to wash up, like Meg, and like Meg he’d been provided with more substantial clothing. In this case, “more substantial” consisted of a kind of black leather kilt and sleeveless tunic. Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “A kilt?”
The young man shrugged. “They didn’t have any pants that fit.”
One of the guards in the room, a hunter that Castiel recognized as Walt, startled. “It can speak?”
Sam glared at him, but didn’t respond.
Castiel waved a hand at the two guards. “I will take over from here. You may send Bobby Singer. He can take over the observation when I’ve finished.”
The humans exchanged glances. “Dean said he was to be watched by two soldiers at all times,” said the other one, the one who wasn’t Walt. Castiel thought his name must be Roy, but didn’t care enough to read his mind.
“Singer is worth ten men such as yourself. Go.” He banished them to the walls with a thought, deciding after a moment to keep them within the city walls. “Are you well, Sam?”
The abomination glanced at him with indifference. “The tent is large.”
Castiel glanced around. The tent was, indeed, large. It contained a bed and a chamber pot. Neither looked like they’d seen much use. “Have you been given food or drink?” The prisoner didn’t respond. Castiel sighed. “Is denial of sustenance a choice on your part, Sam? Or on your brother’s?”
Sam still didn’t speak, and Castiel stuck his head out to speak to the person in front of the door flap. “I will require water for the prisoner, and a bowl of broth,” he informed the guards stationed there.
“The commander didn’t leave any such instructions.” The guard licked his lips.
“Perhaps he didn’t think it necessary,” Castiel snapped, squinting. “If he’d wanted to mistreat the man, he’d have left him in the ‘justice center.’ Water and broth. Perhaps some bread. Now.” He added just enough Grace behind the word to let the guard know that he wasn’t joking and turned back to the young man, who continued to watch with a blank expression. “I apologize, Samuel. I didn’t know that you would be treated this way. One of us would have seen to it before now.”
Sam huffed quietly, but changed the subject. “Is Meg alright?”
“Her cell is comfortable. She’s been given more suitable clothing. She would prefer not to be confined, but she is not being actively harmed and she won’t be harmed so long as you are cooperative.” Castiel hesitated. “She is worried for you.”
Sam smirked. “She shouldn’t be here. You should let her go.”
“It is not in my nature to simply let a demon go, Samuel.”
Sam glared at the use of the full name. “She’s not here to hurt anyone. She’s more than redeemed herself.”
“She possessed you!” Castiel stepped forward. “She convinced your father to sell you to Azazel, and then she possessed you to bring you back to him!”
The taller man chuckled softly. “She did. Who cares?”
The angel’s jaw dropped. “Excuse me?”
“I’m only being held until Dean remembers what he’s supposed to do with things like me. Why does anyone care what Meg did with me after John threw me away?” He blinked. “And Meg didn’t have to argue very hard to convince John to sell me. He was already looking for buyers. Azazel just didn’t realize that.” He shook his head slightly. “Anyway. Isn’t your church always preaching about repentance and redemption? She’s repented for what she did to me. She’s seeking redemption, in her way. Why not just let her go - out to Abaddon’s tribe, who aren’t anywhere near Haven or any other human settlement?” He spread his hands wide.
Castiel swallowed. “She is a demon. Humans can repent. There is no redemption for demons.” He moved closer.
“Or their children.” Sam smirked and returned his hands to his lap. “How is Dean?”
“He’s well. Busy. You know how it is. He commands Hunter Legion now.”
“I can see that.” He glanced at the walls of the tent. “Canvas walls don’t hide much.” He swallowed. “But he’s doing okay? Any lasting effects from Alastair?”
Castiel looked up sharply. “He was caught because he was looking for you.”
Sam sighed. “I’m aware.” He schooled his expression into one of perfect blandness, almost angelic. “He could have asked his father.”
“You expect me to believe that John Winchester knowingly handed you over to the demon he hated most?” Castiel drew back.
Sam glowered. “Believe it, don’t believe it. It’s the truth.”
“And from there?” It seemed too much to be believed, but Castiel had to keep pressing on. He needed the rest of the story.
“I was trained. If you can call it that. I learned to use abilities gleaned from the other side of my heritage - Azazel’s side. Of course, I was always going to be psychic. That part comes from Mary.”
“You don’t call her Mother or Mom?” The fact startled Castiel. Dean, after all, always referred to Mary Winchester with reverence, and so had John Winchester.
Sam shrugged. “I never knew her, remember? All that I know about her is that she died, and that she made a deal with Azazel that resulted in my existence. I’m sure she was a wonderful person; she loved John very much.”
“How many humans have you killed?”
“Humans? That probably depends on your definition. Probably none.” He met Castiel’s eyes squarely. “Most of the time, you know, we don’t fight humans. We fight other demons.”
Castiel could have gotten lost in those eyes. “Indeed? Then why was Lilith attacking Haven?”
“I said most of the time. Control of Haven and its trade routes would be a huge advantage, although demons aren’t prone to staying in one place. She’d have put in a puppet government.”
“Cambions like you?” Castiel suggested.
Sam leaned back a little, bracing himself on his arms. “I’m not entirely sure how Lilith’s tribe is run. Azazel probably would have put cambions in. We’re more comfortable in long-term settlements and, depending on who we are and how we were raised, we’re more likely to be loyal to the chief of the tribe.” He snorted. “That was his way of thinking, anyway.”
“You were not loyal to Azazel, then?” The angel moved forward.
“I had nowhere else to go.” He shrugged. “But I can’t say I was loyal, no.”
Castiel scanned Sam and found no hint of deception. At the same time, Sam wasn’t human. He could have some way of concealing his thoughts or emotions from angelic scrutiny. He ought not to trust Sam, to give in to the earnestness of his voice, no matter how tempting it might be. After all, demons specialized in temptation. “Tell me about Lucifer.”
All of the color drained from the young man’s face. “What’s there to tell?” he asked in a strained voice. “I’m sure you know the basics. Archangel. Rebel. Created demons.”
“Meg says he became fond of you.” Castiel squinted at Sam. “What does he like?”
Sam went still. “Pain,” he said finally. “He likes pain. Every kind of pain.” His eyes went blank. “I’d been through some stuff before, but there isn’t anything to compare to Him.”
The angel paused. He wanted to reach out and offer some kind of comfort, but there wasn’t any comfort to be offered. He oughtn’t to be thinking of comfort for something like Sam either. Sam was damned, no matter what. “What was it about you that drew him to you?”
Sam swallowed. “He said I was made for him.” He licked his lips. “That he’d ordered Azazel to make me. For - for Him.” Sam grimaced and then visibly got his emotions under control. “I wasn’t his confidant, if that’s what you’re looking for. I can’t tell you what he was planning.”
“You’d hardly have been able to comprehend it, even if he’d shared it with you,” Castiel told him, mind racing. “Did he say why you were created for him?”
Sam shook his head. “No.” He took a deep breath. “I think he was planning to assign what was left of Azazel’s tribe to me. If I broke. But I didn’t. He didn’t seem to be in a hurry for that either.” Sam blinked, and his eyes flashed yellow for a moment. “Sorry. I don’t have a lot of information for you. I wish I had more.”
Castiel sighed. It was a human expression, one he’d picked up from his time among the creatures, and one that he knew his superiors did not look upon with approval. “I would not have expected much from you, Samuel.” He didn’t miss the way the young man’s lips folded together or the slight glare, but they were unimportant. “What are your plans now?”
Sam huffed a little. “You’re joking, right?”
“I’ve been reliably informed that I lack a sense of humor.”
Those hazel eyes rolled for a moment. “I have no plans. I’ve already lived longer than I expected to.” He made a face that Castiel couldn’t quite identify, somewhere between bitterness and contempt and a kind of dark humor. “He’s not even going to do the job himself, is he?”
“Do you mean Dean?” The angel raised his eyebrows in surprise. “You expect Dean to execute his only brother?”
“I figure he’d be eager. I’ll do the job myself if he’s so squeamish.” Sam looked away for a moment. “How is he?”
“Tall. Not as tall as you. Freckled.” Castiel shuddered at Sam’s casual offer of self-destruction.
Sam let out a little growl of frustration. “Is he well? Is he happy? Any little Winchesters running around? Does he have friends? Hobbies? What does he like to do?”
Castiel narrowed his eyes at the young man. “And if I tell you these things, you will try to use them against him in some way. Carry the information back to your Master.”
Sam punched the mattress, making even Castiel jump. “I’m going to die, Castiel. I’m going to die; I came here to die, all I want is to know that my brother is okay before I go. That’s not too much to ask. I’m not even asking that he come to tell me himself because if he wanted that, he’d be here and not you. I just want to know that Dean is happy. That’s all.”
Castiel backed toward the entrance, eyes on the abomination. His mouth felt dry and his limbs heavy; he couldn’t think what might be causing such a reaction. Angels couldn’t get sick, after all. “I will carry this message to - to someone - I must leave.” He left and tied the door flaps shut. “Don’t let him leave,” he ordered the guard.
“Can I give him the food I brought?” asked the one who had brought that food.
Cas hesitated. “I suppose. Be careful, and don’t speak to him. Get in, and get out. He’s very skilled at gaining one’s sympathy.”
The hunter ducked into the tent left his burden and returned in seconds. “Didn’t even look at it,” he reported. “Some gratitude.”
“He’s being held captive and starved, and will be executed. Gratitude is perhaps not to be expected.” Castiel returned to the citadel.
This time he got to meet not only with Dean, but with members of the Haven Council. He recognized them, of course. Robert Singer was there at the head of the table. The bearded old warrior greeted the angel with a smile and a nod. He’d been a friend of John’s once, although he’d also been responsible for his expulsion from Haven. Jim Murphy, the priest, sat at his left hand. Dean sat at Singer’s right. Missouri Mosley, the mystic, sat beside Jim Murphy and Pamela Barnes sat beside Dean. “Evenin’, Feathers,” Singer greeted. “I guess you’ve had an enlightening day.”
Castiel nodded. “I’ve spoken with both the demoness and the half-breed. They were not part of the tribe that attacked us most recently. According to the demoness, there is little love lost between either the tribe of Azazel or Lucifer’s tribe and Lilith’s tribe.”
Dean snorted. “So? They’re still demons.”
Missouri scowled at him. “Boy, I will whack you with a spoon. Only one of them is an actual demon and you know it.”
Pamela sneered. “He’s got demonic origins, Missouri. It doesn’t matter if he’s only got a little bit of demon blood in his veins - he’d still be tainted. He’s evil. Everything inside him is evil. He needs to be put down.”
Jim winced. “There wasn’t an evil bone in the boy I remember. Most of what I remember is a gentle-souled boy who mostly wanted to study.”
“I remember that he couldn’t ever bring himself to follow orders,” Dean said with a frown. “He and our father didn’t stop fighting from the time Sam was what - eight?”
“That would be about when John figured out that he’d been possessed when Sam was conceived,” Singer confirmed with a grim setting of his lips. “He definitely started treating the boy differently then.”
Dean rolled his eyes. “Oh come on, Bobby. I mean he was hard on us, but he had to be. Cuddles and cupcakes weren’t going to keep us safe or teach us to fight what was out there.”
Jim Murphy cleared his throat. “The standards, however, were very different for each of you. For you, it was enough to learn to fight. For Sam, he had to learn to fight, and he had to be as good as you with four years less training and half your size, and show more enthusiasm than you with absolutely none of the encouragement he showed you -“
“It’s not like a demon was going to go easy on the kid because he was small,” Pamela pointed out. “John Winchester was a good man, and a good father.”
“I’ll give you one of the two,” Bobby rumbled. “He was a good man who had more on him than he ever should have had to deal with. I wouldn’t go so far as to call him a good father, though. If he was guilty of selling his son -“
“Not his son,” Castiel interjected. “Azazel’s son, a cuckoo in the nest.” He saw Dean’s expression harden and regretted his words immediately. He shouldn’t have - the words coincided with his orders, after all - but the regret welled up inside of him nevertheless.
“Whether or not he was possessed at the time of conception, Sam is still the product of John Winchester’s body. If he rejected the boy, he should have found another home for him. Hell, I’d have taken him in a heartbeat,” Jim Murphy said with a vicious glare.
“A possessed person’s blood changes, their body temperature changes, their entire biology changes.” Singer shifted. “It was only sort of Johnny’s body.”
“It’s still enough.” Missouri sat with her back as straight as any angel. “And he still raised that child through eight years before he decided to just shuck him off like bad skin. That ain’t right.”
Dean glared right back at her. “Dad did what he had to, all right? Sammy wasn’t the little cherub you remember. Dad needed sons he could trust, sons who would follow orders. He didn’t feel that he could trust Sammy.” He massaged his temples. “And anyway, whose word are we going on for that whole ‘trying to sell him into slavery’ story, anyway? Sammy, who wouldn’t know the truth if it bit him on the ass, and Meg, who is a demon. Demons lie. Come on.”
“He did wind up with Azazel, with no explanation or farewell.” Jim crossed his arms across his chest.
“Yeah, and every other time he tried to run off?” Dean snorted. “So what’s he want?”
“Want?” Castiel blinked, not quite understanding the question.
“Yes, what does Sam want? He’s got to have some kind of an angle, right? I mean he didn’t come here just looking to catch up.” Dean’s mouth twisted into a bitter smirk.
Castiel pulled at the collar of his tunic, suddenly too tight underneath his breastplate. Why it should be too tight the angel had no idea; he was an angel, their clothes always fit. “Actually he did.”
Five pairs of eyes turned to him. “Excuse me?” Pamela asked him, raising an eyebrow.
“Samuel expects to die,” Castiel explained. “His life with Azazel, and then with Lucifer, has been a misery. He returned to Haven and to Dean expecting execution. His wish was to verify, with his own eyes, that his brother had survived his ordeal at Alastair’s hands relatively intact. He has no expectations of a reunion and is confused by the tent and the clothes. He is not resisting. He would prefer that the demon Meg be released and that Dean be his executioner, but he’s willing to do the job himself.”
Absolute silence met his words as all five humans gazed at him in horror. For once, Castiel couldn’t wonder at their reaction. He shared it. “Maybe that would be kindest.” Pamela spoke first, face pale. “At least that way Dean would be spared.”
Dean turned to face her. “Excuse me? That’s my brother! Are you seriously trying to tell me that you want him to kill himself?”
“Are you seriously trying to tell me that you could just execute your brother?” Her eyes blazed. “Tell me the truth, Dean. Can you do it?”
“Who says he has to be killed?” Jim Murphy added. “He’s a sad, traumatized, suicidal man who was once a part of this community. Who we all - excepting Pamela and the angel - once loved and cared for. Are we seriously willing to just write him off because of something he had no control over?”
“None of them has any control over what they are,” Singer pointed out. “We still kill them, because they come for us. It’s not a choice.” He sighed. “At the same time, he is half human. And he is, at the end of the day, your brother, Dean.”
Dean sighed. “He is. I guess I need to face the music and go talk to him.”
Castiel stood up. This was an opportunity to play the role Zachariah had ordered for him, but he found no enthusiasm in himself for it. “I will go with you, Dean. You don’t need to face this task alone.”
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