Not Made for Defeat
Title: Not Made for Defeat
Author: shaggydogstail
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean, Anna and Castiel
Summary: No-one knows how to prepare for the apocalypse. But they can try.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful betas, nam_jai and ghost2. Any remaining errors are mine.
i.
Basilica of St Joseph Proto-Cathedral, Bardstown, Kentucky
It's the better part of an hour before Dean's done laying thick lines of salt around every entrance and stuffing as many hex bags as he could find into corners. Coulda gone a whole lot quicker with a bit of help, but neither his catatonic brother nor the Angel of the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown have been much use so far. Sure, he's grateful that Cas busted him out of Heaven and all, even more for him showing up and pulling Dean and Sam away from Lucifer, but right now he'd like someone to come up with a plan that goes a bit further than 1. run off to some church and 2. hide. Pacing up and down in front of the altar and muttering isn't exactly helpful.
Dean sighs and turns to look down the other end of the church. The celestial pep-talk will have to wait; first, he's got to deal with Sam.
Sam's crammed into a pew near the back, elbows resting on his knees, forehead on his hands. From a distance it seems almost as if he's praying, but once Dean gets up close and personal enough to have a good look he decides that Sam is way too uptight for that.
There isn't enough space to get past gigantor-legs to sit on the pew, so Dean just squats down on his haunches in the aisle.
“Sam,” he says softly. “Hey, Sammy. C'mon, talk to me, man.”
Sam doesn't respond, not to Dean talking to him, a friendly punch on the shoulder, or Dean's lame-ass jokes about it not being the end of the world. (Yeah, OK, not his finest moment.) He just sits there, not moving, not talking, not even acknowledging that Dean exists.
“You gotta talk to me sometime, Sammy,” Dean says, on his feet, temper fraying. “C'mon, cut it out.”
No response, and Dean kicks the end of the pew in frustration. “Jesus Christ.”
“Mind your language. This is a house of God.”
Dean spins around to face Castiel, annoyed. “You sure about that? Cos according to Zachariah, God has left the building.”
A flicker of... something crosses Castiel's face. Dean's not sure if he's shocked, or scared, or just plain pissed. There's no time to figure it out, though, as Castiel's face is marble-cold again in a moment.
“I was not aware that Zachariah had turned against the Lord so completely,” says Castiel.
“Yeah, well, you holy types are full of surprises,” says Dean. “Gotta tell you, Cas, I never thought I'd see you blow out one of your bosses like that.”
It's not the biggest surprise he's had in the past few hours, but still. It's worth mentioning. Come to think of it, there's a whole lot of other stuff Dean'd like to talk about, but Castiel has already turned away and is walking back towards the altar. Dean hesitates for a second, glancing back at Sam, who still hasn't moved or made so much as a whimper. Sam must be in shock, Dean figures, and maybe they just need to wait until he snaps out of it on his own.
Mind made up, Dean leans over to clap Sam on the back. “Hang in there, bro,” he whispers, before stalking off down the aisle.
He finds Castiel standing before the altar, gazing up at a painting of the Crucifixion with rapt adoration. Dean's not used to Castiel looking like this - he looks, well, angelic. Or anyways, what Dean would've imagined angels to look like before he actually met any and decided they were mostly a bunch of righteous dicks.
“Hey, Cas,” he says, a bit awkward because seriously? This devotional look Castiel's got going on is freaking him out. “What's up with you?”
Castiel turns to him, brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”
Dean huffs and decides he's just gonna have to spell it out, real slow. “Cas, you spent half of today fighting off angels, busting me out of heaven, dodging a freaking archangel, and now? Now you're mooning around like the dew-eyed lamb of God with a massive hard-on for some big fuck-off cathedral. It's not making a whole lot of sense.”
“You're mixing your metaphors, Dean,” says Castiel. “Nevertheless, I think I understand your confusion. You thought that because I defied orders that I had abandoned God. That I would fall.”
“I like to think of it more as... freelancing,” says Dean.
Castiel almost smiles. “We angels do not have free will, Dean. We were made to serve.”
“And you serve... who, exactly?”
“You.”
And, yeah, there it is again, that stupid devotional look. It's really creeping Dean out.
“Me?” Dean splutters. “You serve me?”
“Yes,” Castiel says simply. He pauses briefly, perhaps waiting for the message to sink in, but apparently Dean's confusion is obvious because Castiel continues, “I told you once that I serve God, not you. I miscalculated. In order to serve God, I must serve you.”
“Why?” asks Dean, dimly aware that he's almost shouting now. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” counters Castiel. “You have been chosen by God.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” says Dean. “Look, I'm not even sure I believe there is a God, or if he's dead, or if God's just kind of a douche.”
“No matter,” says Castiel. “You will do God's work. Save the world. Defeat Lucifer.”
He's still gazing at Dean with crazy-eyed reverence, like Dean's the new freaking Messiah or something, and Dean's not sure how much more of this he can take.
“What makes you so sure?” he asks wearily.
“I have faith,” says Castiel. Like that's an answer. “And I know you. I've seen what you can do. You save people, fight evil. That's what this is all about.”
Saving people, hunting things. The family business. Yeah, that's what Dean does, all he knows how to do, but that doesn't mean he's gotten good enough at it to stop Armageddon.
“You really think I can?” asks Dean, his voice a rough whisper now. He can't bring himself to look at Castiel. “Do you think I can do it?”
“Yes,” says Castiel, with such absolute conviction that Dean almost believes it himself. “You can. You must.”
And that's really the point, isn't it? Dean really doesn't have a choice here. He can bellyache all he likes how it shouldn't be down to him (how it isn't fair, a tiny part of him thinks), but sitting around sobbing like a bitch about how he isn't strong enough isn't gonna make one damn bit of difference to what's going on out there. Dean might not be sure what is going on right now, but he does know there's a war about to break out between Heaven and Hell and neither side gives much of a crap about all the poor suckers on Earth stuck in the middle.
So, yeah, Dean's gonna save them, or do his damnedest to. Save as many as he can, or die trying.
After all, what else can he do?
“OK,” he says gruffly, looking pointedly away from Castiel.
ii.
Beverly, Massachusetts
Anna stands and stares, a fine drizzle of rain dampening her hair as she gazes at the headstones. There are flowers on the graves, lots of them, from Rich Milton's parishioners, friends and neighbors, the ladies from Mrs. Milton's sewing group. She doesn't cry, hasn't since her grace was restored. Such emotional release is the privilege of humans.
Glancing up at the gathering storm clouds above, Anna wonders what she's doing here. She doesn't react when she feels the beat of wings behind her. There's no point in running away.
“Anna.”
She waits a moment before turning to face Castiel, who has materialized a few feet away and is standing perfectly still, his head ever so slightly bowed. It's a deferential gesture, waiting for her permission to approach. Anna just shrugs, because it's not up to her to give Castiel orders anymore, and turns back to the graves.
Eventually, he moves closer of his own volition. “What are you doing here?”
“Right this moment,” says Anna, turning to face Castiel, “I'm trying to decide whether to hug you or punch you in the face.”
“That's very... human of you,” says Castiel, and if Anna didn't know better she'd think he was teasing her. “I probably deserve the punch. For what it's worth, though, I am sorry.”
“You were only following orders,” says Anna. It's a cheap shot, but it's not like Castiel doesn't deserve it.
“I was being a fool,” says Castiel. “Taking orders from those who have turned away from God. I don't intend to repeat the error.”
“Well, that's good,” says Anna. She isn't sure what more Castiel wants from her.
Castiel nods stiffly in response. “I am glad to find you,” he says. “If you don't mind... how did you escape though?”
“Oh, you know, what with rogue angels, betrayal, the oncoming apocalypse, it's pandemonium up there,” says Anna. “I just snuck out the back while no one was looking.”
Castiel winces, but doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he takes a step towards Anna, stands beside her at her parents' graveside. “You miss them,” he says quietly.
“Yes.”
“And it hurts.”
“Very much.”
“But you don't regret it?”
“No.” Anna is resolute on this point. She has some regrets, of course. She's sorry for the pain she caused her human parents, the terrible anguish they suffered over her supposed mental illness, and the horror of their deaths. But she knows that is not what Castiel means, and she does not regret having fallen.
“I think,” he says slowly, “that our kind has much to learn from humans.”
Anna regards him curiously. “Not considering switching sides, are you?”
“My loyalty is to God,” says Castiel, sounding righteous as ever. That's easier to deal with, somehow.
“Aw, and here I was hoping to lead you astray,” Anna teases him.
Castiel either doesn't get it, or considers innuendo beneath him. “You have helped me to see the truth, Anna,” he says earnestly. “You were right to make me question whether my orders truly came from God. I see now that neither Zachariah nor Uriel's plans were His work.”
“I'm certainly glad you're not listening to the likes of them anymore,” says Anna. “But what makes you so sure that teaming up with a fallen angel is God's will either?”
“There is much I do not understand” says Castiel slowly, less fervent now. “Yet you are here, Anna, despite everything. For a fallen angel to remain alive, to walk the Earth is... unprecedented. You could not have evaded Heaven for so long unless it were God's will that you live.”
Anna makes a face. “Perhaps God just doesn't care.”
“Perhaps He loves you still," says Castiel softly. “The ranks of Heaven are corrupted by rebellion, and you have done more to safeguard humanity than the likes of Uriel or Zachariah ever would. The humans are our Father's greatest creation, and you know them better than any angel. Maybe you are meant to help them. Maybe I was meant to choose Dean Winchester over my superiors.”
Anna snorts, shaking her head at Castiel's idealistic naiveté. Trust him to come up with some soft devotional reasons for his own rebellion against Heaven. And yet... she can't quite bring herself to dismiss his words. In the face of Lucifer's rising, the oncoming apocalypse, and disarray in Heaven, the notion that God might not have forgotten them after all is more comforting than Anna would like to admit.
“Please, come with me,” says Castiel. “I have placed Dean Winchester and his brother in a monastery in Kentucky, and must return to them soon. Join us, please.”
“Join you for what?” asks Anna. “Fighting Lucifer, taking on the massed armies of Heaven and Hell, saving the world?”
Castiel smiles. “Something like that, yes.”
He looks so pleased at the idea, Anna can't help but laugh. Then, on impulse, she hugs him, throwing her arms right round the stiff and startled shoulders of Castiel's vessel, and squeezing tight. Castiel doesn't respond, most likely doesn't know how, and when she lets him loose his face is such a picture that she can't resist pressing a kiss to his cheek for good measure.
“What was that for?” asks Castiel, looking for all the world like a startled puppy.
“Let's just say I'm glad you don't deserve a punch in the face after all,” Anna tells him.
Castiel looks pleased, if still somewhat bewildered. “Does that mean I'm forgiven?” he asks. “You'll help us?”
“Guess so,” says Anna. She holds out her hand. “C'mon, Castiel, let's go save the world.”
iii.
Basilica of St Joseph Proto-Cathedral, Bardstown, Kentucky
He may have been crammed into this pew for hours now, or days, or a little under five minutes - Sam's lost all sense of time, maybe even reality, and it's just possible that he's losing his mind. He's not praying, or crying, though he'd like to, thinks he ought to. Right now he's not capable of anything, shocked into inaction by sheer horror. Horror at what he's done, at what he's become.
Even in his worst nightmares, he never imagined he'd become such a monster. Murdering, blood-sucking, demon-loving, monster harbinger of the apocalypse. It literally doesn't get any worse.
Sam doesn't notice the worried looks Dean keeps shooting in his direction, or even his brother's attempts to talk to him. He doesn't register the whispered conversations behind his back or the sound of Anna's footsteps, brisk and steady on the ancient stone floor, as she marches up to him, and it's only as her fingers leave his forehead that he realizes something's going on.
They're outside and it's dark, no stars to be seen in the night sky and a fierce wind whistling overhead. The weather looks stormy but Sam, and Anna beside him, are sheltered from the rain. Huh. Must be one of Anna's funky angel tricks.
“What's going on?” asks Sam, the shock of cold air jolting him out of his trance. “Where's Dean?”
“I just brought you out for a breath of fresh air,” says Anna. “Dean's inside, trying to come up with a plan of action with Castiel. They could use your help, when you're ready.”
Sam turns away from her. “Dean's better off without me.”
“Why would that be?” Anna asks softly. “Do you really think you're such a monster?”
Sam wheels back around to face her, astonished. “What, and you don't? I set Lucifer free, started the apocalypse. And even if that was just a mistake, even if there was no way I could've known Lilith was the final seal, I killed an innocent woman just so I could drink her blood. If that's not evil, then I don't know what is.”
“I know you've done terrible things,” says Anna quietly. “I'm not going to pretend it's OK. But what Ruby did -”
“What Ruby did was give me an excuse,” Sam interrupts her. He lets out a hollow laugh. “She had me so convinced it was all about the demon blood that even when I knew deep down that I was going dark side, I could just write it off as some side effect. It wasn't the blood. It was me.”
Sam sinks down onto cold, wet grass, burying his face in his hands. He doesn't know why Anna is here. How can she even stand to look at him?
“I know it was,” says Anna, and Sam can feel her sitting down next to him, her hand on his shoulder. “Ruby took all the worst parts of you - your fear, hurt, anger, your need for revenge - and used them against you. But that doesn't mean those things are all there is to you.”
“How can you say that?” asks Sam. “You know what I've done.”
“Yes, and I can see you now,” says Anna. “I can see your pain, your remorse. You're so sorry for what you've done that it's breaking your heart.”
Yeah, he is, but so what? “Sorry doesn't make it better,” says Sam.
“It means you're not a monster, though,” says Anna. “How could you be? Monsters don't shed tears for their victims, don't tear themselves up inside because they feel they've let down people they love. Everything you're feeling right now just proves how human you are.”
Sam shrugs. “Pretty crappy excuse for a human if you ask me.”
He's silent for a long moment, rubbing away tears he doesn't remember shedding as Anna waits patiently for him to pull himself together.
“Dean went to hell for me,” he says at last. “Suffered in ways I can't even begin to process and this is how I pay him back? I don't know how I even begin to put this right.”
“Yeah, you do,” says Anna. “You go back in there, make out like you don't just want to curl up and die, and you tell your brother you got his back.”
Just like that, right? 'Course if there was any justice in the world Dean would just shoot him on the spot, or at least kick his ass and throw him out, but that's never gonna happen. Sam knows that Dean's already forgiven him, just like always, and whether Sam deserves it or not is beside the point.
“I don't think I can,” says Sam, even though he knows he has to, because he owes Dean more than he can ever hope to repay already.
“Let's try.” Anna stands up and holds out her hand. Sam takes it and allows himself to be led back into the church only because he can't think of what else to do, for all he feels wretched enough to throw up already and each step he takes back towards Dean makes him feel worse.
It's no more than he deserves.
Back inside, Dean and Castiel have a map spread out over some pews, both pointing and talking at once. Dean looks up when he hears Sam coming and gives a satisfied nod, like everything's cool now. Everything's far from cool, but Sam just about manages to nod back.
“What are those marks?” asks Anna, peering over the map.
“Those red ones are Hell Gates,” says Dean. “Gonna need a keep a close eye on all of 'em. These blue ones, though, they're my favorite. Those are reservoirs, water treatment centers, you name it. Cas has a little project he could use your help with.”
Anna looks up at Castiel, brow furrowed. “Oh!” she says. “You want us to bless the entire water supply?”
“Damn straight,” says Dean triumphantly. “Now, you'll need to talk some local priests into topping up the holy after you're done, but those demons are gonna find it pretty hard to possess some poor sucker when we've got the entire continental U.S. drinking, washing, and even taking a dump in holy water.”
“Nice,” says Anna.
Sam even manages a grin. It is a pretty awesome plan.
“Now, while Cas and Anna go off getting wet and, well, holy, me and Sammy have got work to do of our own.”
Dean looks right at him as he says this, and Sam can see the "you and me, in this together" in his eyes just as clear as he can hear Dean's words. He just wishes he could find anything to say in response.
“We're gonna rally the troops,” Dean continues. “We need to call every hunter we know, all of Dad's contacts, everyone Bobby knows, the whole bunch. Then we tell them to call everyone they know, anyone who ever fought a demon or knows anything at all about dealing with those evil sons-of-bitches. Get as many people as we can ready to kick some serious ass.”
Yeah, Sam's not sure he's the best person to go canvassing hunters. “What do we say to them?” he asks.
“That we are facing the End of Days,” announces Castiel. “Invite them to follow your brother in a war for all of Creation.”
“Bull crap,” counters Dean eloquently. “We tell them that the biggest, baddest mofo that ever crawled out of Hell is on the loose, and it's up to every damn one of us to do something about it. I'm not about to lead some holy war, but there are people, families out there that need protecting. If they're going to fight for that I'll be right there beside them.”
Dean finishes his little tirade with a look that just dares anyone to argue with him, but disagreement is the last thing on Sam's mind. Right now, he couldn't be prouder of his big brother. Beneath all the misery and guilt, Sam can feel the tiniest flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he will be up for the fight, despite it all.
After all, he's got something worth fighting for.
FIN
Author: shaggydogstail
Rating: PG-13
Characters: Sam, Dean, Anna and Castiel
Summary: No-one knows how to prepare for the apocalypse. But they can try.
Disclaimer: Not mine, no profit.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to my wonderful betas, nam_jai and ghost2. Any remaining errors are mine.
i.
Basilica of St Joseph Proto-Cathedral, Bardstown, Kentucky
It's the better part of an hour before Dean's done laying thick lines of salt around every entrance and stuffing as many hex bags as he could find into corners. Coulda gone a whole lot quicker with a bit of help, but neither his catatonic brother nor the Angel of the Verge of a Nervous Breakdown have been much use so far. Sure, he's grateful that Cas busted him out of Heaven and all, even more for him showing up and pulling Dean and Sam away from Lucifer, but right now he'd like someone to come up with a plan that goes a bit further than 1. run off to some church and 2. hide. Pacing up and down in front of the altar and muttering isn't exactly helpful.
Dean sighs and turns to look down the other end of the church. The celestial pep-talk will have to wait; first, he's got to deal with Sam.
Sam's crammed into a pew near the back, elbows resting on his knees, forehead on his hands. From a distance it seems almost as if he's praying, but once Dean gets up close and personal enough to have a good look he decides that Sam is way too uptight for that.
There isn't enough space to get past gigantor-legs to sit on the pew, so Dean just squats down on his haunches in the aisle.
“Sam,” he says softly. “Hey, Sammy. C'mon, talk to me, man.”
Sam doesn't respond, not to Dean talking to him, a friendly punch on the shoulder, or Dean's lame-ass jokes about it not being the end of the world. (Yeah, OK, not his finest moment.) He just sits there, not moving, not talking, not even acknowledging that Dean exists.
“You gotta talk to me sometime, Sammy,” Dean says, on his feet, temper fraying. “C'mon, cut it out.”
No response, and Dean kicks the end of the pew in frustration. “Jesus Christ.”
“Mind your language. This is a house of God.”
Dean spins around to face Castiel, annoyed. “You sure about that? Cos according to Zachariah, God has left the building.”
A flicker of... something crosses Castiel's face. Dean's not sure if he's shocked, or scared, or just plain pissed. There's no time to figure it out, though, as Castiel's face is marble-cold again in a moment.
“I was not aware that Zachariah had turned against the Lord so completely,” says Castiel.
“Yeah, well, you holy types are full of surprises,” says Dean. “Gotta tell you, Cas, I never thought I'd see you blow out one of your bosses like that.”
It's not the biggest surprise he's had in the past few hours, but still. It's worth mentioning. Come to think of it, there's a whole lot of other stuff Dean'd like to talk about, but Castiel has already turned away and is walking back towards the altar. Dean hesitates for a second, glancing back at Sam, who still hasn't moved or made so much as a whimper. Sam must be in shock, Dean figures, and maybe they just need to wait until he snaps out of it on his own.
Mind made up, Dean leans over to clap Sam on the back. “Hang in there, bro,” he whispers, before stalking off down the aisle.
He finds Castiel standing before the altar, gazing up at a painting of the Crucifixion with rapt adoration. Dean's not used to Castiel looking like this - he looks, well, angelic. Or anyways, what Dean would've imagined angels to look like before he actually met any and decided they were mostly a bunch of righteous dicks.
“Hey, Cas,” he says, a bit awkward because seriously? This devotional look Castiel's got going on is freaking him out. “What's up with you?”
Castiel turns to him, brow furrowed. “I do not understand.”
Dean huffs and decides he's just gonna have to spell it out, real slow. “Cas, you spent half of today fighting off angels, busting me out of heaven, dodging a freaking archangel, and now? Now you're mooning around like the dew-eyed lamb of God with a massive hard-on for some big fuck-off cathedral. It's not making a whole lot of sense.”
“You're mixing your metaphors, Dean,” says Castiel. “Nevertheless, I think I understand your confusion. You thought that because I defied orders that I had abandoned God. That I would fall.”
“I like to think of it more as... freelancing,” says Dean.
Castiel almost smiles. “We angels do not have free will, Dean. We were made to serve.”
“And you serve... who, exactly?”
“You.”
And, yeah, there it is again, that stupid devotional look. It's really creeping Dean out.
“Me?” Dean splutters. “You serve me?”
“Yes,” Castiel says simply. He pauses briefly, perhaps waiting for the message to sink in, but apparently Dean's confusion is obvious because Castiel continues, “I told you once that I serve God, not you. I miscalculated. In order to serve God, I must serve you.”
“Why?” asks Dean, dimly aware that he's almost shouting now. “Why me?”
“Why not you?” counters Castiel. “You have been chosen by God.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” says Dean. “Look, I'm not even sure I believe there is a God, or if he's dead, or if God's just kind of a douche.”
“No matter,” says Castiel. “You will do God's work. Save the world. Defeat Lucifer.”
He's still gazing at Dean with crazy-eyed reverence, like Dean's the new freaking Messiah or something, and Dean's not sure how much more of this he can take.
“What makes you so sure?” he asks wearily.
“I have faith,” says Castiel. Like that's an answer. “And I know you. I've seen what you can do. You save people, fight evil. That's what this is all about.”
Saving people, hunting things. The family business. Yeah, that's what Dean does, all he knows how to do, but that doesn't mean he's gotten good enough at it to stop Armageddon.
“You really think I can?” asks Dean, his voice a rough whisper now. He can't bring himself to look at Castiel. “Do you think I can do it?”
“Yes,” says Castiel, with such absolute conviction that Dean almost believes it himself. “You can. You must.”
And that's really the point, isn't it? Dean really doesn't have a choice here. He can bellyache all he likes how it shouldn't be down to him (how it isn't fair, a tiny part of him thinks), but sitting around sobbing like a bitch about how he isn't strong enough isn't gonna make one damn bit of difference to what's going on out there. Dean might not be sure what is going on right now, but he does know there's a war about to break out between Heaven and Hell and neither side gives much of a crap about all the poor suckers on Earth stuck in the middle.
So, yeah, Dean's gonna save them, or do his damnedest to. Save as many as he can, or die trying.
After all, what else can he do?
“OK,” he says gruffly, looking pointedly away from Castiel.
ii.
Beverly, Massachusetts
Anna stands and stares, a fine drizzle of rain dampening her hair as she gazes at the headstones. There are flowers on the graves, lots of them, from Rich Milton's parishioners, friends and neighbors, the ladies from Mrs. Milton's sewing group. She doesn't cry, hasn't since her grace was restored. Such emotional release is the privilege of humans.
Glancing up at the gathering storm clouds above, Anna wonders what she's doing here. She doesn't react when she feels the beat of wings behind her. There's no point in running away.
“Anna.”
She waits a moment before turning to face Castiel, who has materialized a few feet away and is standing perfectly still, his head ever so slightly bowed. It's a deferential gesture, waiting for her permission to approach. Anna just shrugs, because it's not up to her to give Castiel orders anymore, and turns back to the graves.
Eventually, he moves closer of his own volition. “What are you doing here?”
“Right this moment,” says Anna, turning to face Castiel, “I'm trying to decide whether to hug you or punch you in the face.”
“That's very... human of you,” says Castiel, and if Anna didn't know better she'd think he was teasing her. “I probably deserve the punch. For what it's worth, though, I am sorry.”
“You were only following orders,” says Anna. It's a cheap shot, but it's not like Castiel doesn't deserve it.
“I was being a fool,” says Castiel. “Taking orders from those who have turned away from God. I don't intend to repeat the error.”
“Well, that's good,” says Anna. She isn't sure what more Castiel wants from her.
Castiel nods stiffly in response. “I am glad to find you,” he says. “If you don't mind... how did you escape though?”
“Oh, you know, what with rogue angels, betrayal, the oncoming apocalypse, it's pandemonium up there,” says Anna. “I just snuck out the back while no one was looking.”
Castiel winces, but doesn't rise to the bait. Instead, he takes a step towards Anna, stands beside her at her parents' graveside. “You miss them,” he says quietly.
“Yes.”
“And it hurts.”
“Very much.”
“But you don't regret it?”
“No.” Anna is resolute on this point. She has some regrets, of course. She's sorry for the pain she caused her human parents, the terrible anguish they suffered over her supposed mental illness, and the horror of their deaths. But she knows that is not what Castiel means, and she does not regret having fallen.
“I think,” he says slowly, “that our kind has much to learn from humans.”
Anna regards him curiously. “Not considering switching sides, are you?”
“My loyalty is to God,” says Castiel, sounding righteous as ever. That's easier to deal with, somehow.
“Aw, and here I was hoping to lead you astray,” Anna teases him.
Castiel either doesn't get it, or considers innuendo beneath him. “You have helped me to see the truth, Anna,” he says earnestly. “You were right to make me question whether my orders truly came from God. I see now that neither Zachariah nor Uriel's plans were His work.”
“I'm certainly glad you're not listening to the likes of them anymore,” says Anna. “But what makes you so sure that teaming up with a fallen angel is God's will either?”
“There is much I do not understand” says Castiel slowly, less fervent now. “Yet you are here, Anna, despite everything. For a fallen angel to remain alive, to walk the Earth is... unprecedented. You could not have evaded Heaven for so long unless it were God's will that you live.”
Anna makes a face. “Perhaps God just doesn't care.”
“Perhaps He loves you still," says Castiel softly. “The ranks of Heaven are corrupted by rebellion, and you have done more to safeguard humanity than the likes of Uriel or Zachariah ever would. The humans are our Father's greatest creation, and you know them better than any angel. Maybe you are meant to help them. Maybe I was meant to choose Dean Winchester over my superiors.”
Anna snorts, shaking her head at Castiel's idealistic naiveté. Trust him to come up with some soft devotional reasons for his own rebellion against Heaven. And yet... she can't quite bring herself to dismiss his words. In the face of Lucifer's rising, the oncoming apocalypse, and disarray in Heaven, the notion that God might not have forgotten them after all is more comforting than Anna would like to admit.
“Please, come with me,” says Castiel. “I have placed Dean Winchester and his brother in a monastery in Kentucky, and must return to them soon. Join us, please.”
“Join you for what?” asks Anna. “Fighting Lucifer, taking on the massed armies of Heaven and Hell, saving the world?”
Castiel smiles. “Something like that, yes.”
He looks so pleased at the idea, Anna can't help but laugh. Then, on impulse, she hugs him, throwing her arms right round the stiff and startled shoulders of Castiel's vessel, and squeezing tight. Castiel doesn't respond, most likely doesn't know how, and when she lets him loose his face is such a picture that she can't resist pressing a kiss to his cheek for good measure.
“What was that for?” asks Castiel, looking for all the world like a startled puppy.
“Let's just say I'm glad you don't deserve a punch in the face after all,” Anna tells him.
Castiel looks pleased, if still somewhat bewildered. “Does that mean I'm forgiven?” he asks. “You'll help us?”
“Guess so,” says Anna. She holds out her hand. “C'mon, Castiel, let's go save the world.”
iii.
Basilica of St Joseph Proto-Cathedral, Bardstown, Kentucky
He may have been crammed into this pew for hours now, or days, or a little under five minutes - Sam's lost all sense of time, maybe even reality, and it's just possible that he's losing his mind. He's not praying, or crying, though he'd like to, thinks he ought to. Right now he's not capable of anything, shocked into inaction by sheer horror. Horror at what he's done, at what he's become.
Even in his worst nightmares, he never imagined he'd become such a monster. Murdering, blood-sucking, demon-loving, monster harbinger of the apocalypse. It literally doesn't get any worse.
Sam doesn't notice the worried looks Dean keeps shooting in his direction, or even his brother's attempts to talk to him. He doesn't register the whispered conversations behind his back or the sound of Anna's footsteps, brisk and steady on the ancient stone floor, as she marches up to him, and it's only as her fingers leave his forehead that he realizes something's going on.
They're outside and it's dark, no stars to be seen in the night sky and a fierce wind whistling overhead. The weather looks stormy but Sam, and Anna beside him, are sheltered from the rain. Huh. Must be one of Anna's funky angel tricks.
“What's going on?” asks Sam, the shock of cold air jolting him out of his trance. “Where's Dean?”
“I just brought you out for a breath of fresh air,” says Anna. “Dean's inside, trying to come up with a plan of action with Castiel. They could use your help, when you're ready.”
Sam turns away from her. “Dean's better off without me.”
“Why would that be?” Anna asks softly. “Do you really think you're such a monster?”
Sam wheels back around to face her, astonished. “What, and you don't? I set Lucifer free, started the apocalypse. And even if that was just a mistake, even if there was no way I could've known Lilith was the final seal, I killed an innocent woman just so I could drink her blood. If that's not evil, then I don't know what is.”
“I know you've done terrible things,” says Anna quietly. “I'm not going to pretend it's OK. But what Ruby did -”
“What Ruby did was give me an excuse,” Sam interrupts her. He lets out a hollow laugh. “She had me so convinced it was all about the demon blood that even when I knew deep down that I was going dark side, I could just write it off as some side effect. It wasn't the blood. It was me.”
Sam sinks down onto cold, wet grass, burying his face in his hands. He doesn't know why Anna is here. How can she even stand to look at him?
“I know it was,” says Anna, and Sam can feel her sitting down next to him, her hand on his shoulder. “Ruby took all the worst parts of you - your fear, hurt, anger, your need for revenge - and used them against you. But that doesn't mean those things are all there is to you.”
“How can you say that?” asks Sam. “You know what I've done.”
“Yes, and I can see you now,” says Anna. “I can see your pain, your remorse. You're so sorry for what you've done that it's breaking your heart.”
Yeah, he is, but so what? “Sorry doesn't make it better,” says Sam.
“It means you're not a monster, though,” says Anna. “How could you be? Monsters don't shed tears for their victims, don't tear themselves up inside because they feel they've let down people they love. Everything you're feeling right now just proves how human you are.”
Sam shrugs. “Pretty crappy excuse for a human if you ask me.”
He's silent for a long moment, rubbing away tears he doesn't remember shedding as Anna waits patiently for him to pull himself together.
“Dean went to hell for me,” he says at last. “Suffered in ways I can't even begin to process and this is how I pay him back? I don't know how I even begin to put this right.”
“Yeah, you do,” says Anna. “You go back in there, make out like you don't just want to curl up and die, and you tell your brother you got his back.”
Just like that, right? 'Course if there was any justice in the world Dean would just shoot him on the spot, or at least kick his ass and throw him out, but that's never gonna happen. Sam knows that Dean's already forgiven him, just like always, and whether Sam deserves it or not is beside the point.
“I don't think I can,” says Sam, even though he knows he has to, because he owes Dean more than he can ever hope to repay already.
“Let's try.” Anna stands up and holds out her hand. Sam takes it and allows himself to be led back into the church only because he can't think of what else to do, for all he feels wretched enough to throw up already and each step he takes back towards Dean makes him feel worse.
It's no more than he deserves.
Back inside, Dean and Castiel have a map spread out over some pews, both pointing and talking at once. Dean looks up when he hears Sam coming and gives a satisfied nod, like everything's cool now. Everything's far from cool, but Sam just about manages to nod back.
“What are those marks?” asks Anna, peering over the map.
“Those red ones are Hell Gates,” says Dean. “Gonna need a keep a close eye on all of 'em. These blue ones, though, they're my favorite. Those are reservoirs, water treatment centers, you name it. Cas has a little project he could use your help with.”
Anna looks up at Castiel, brow furrowed. “Oh!” she says. “You want us to bless the entire water supply?”
“Damn straight,” says Dean triumphantly. “Now, you'll need to talk some local priests into topping up the holy after you're done, but those demons are gonna find it pretty hard to possess some poor sucker when we've got the entire continental U.S. drinking, washing, and even taking a dump in holy water.”
“Nice,” says Anna.
Sam even manages a grin. It is a pretty awesome plan.
“Now, while Cas and Anna go off getting wet and, well, holy, me and Sammy have got work to do of our own.”
Dean looks right at him as he says this, and Sam can see the "you and me, in this together" in his eyes just as clear as he can hear Dean's words. He just wishes he could find anything to say in response.
“We're gonna rally the troops,” Dean continues. “We need to call every hunter we know, all of Dad's contacts, everyone Bobby knows, the whole bunch. Then we tell them to call everyone they know, anyone who ever fought a demon or knows anything at all about dealing with those evil sons-of-bitches. Get as many people as we can ready to kick some serious ass.”
Yeah, Sam's not sure he's the best person to go canvassing hunters. “What do we say to them?” he asks.
“That we are facing the End of Days,” announces Castiel. “Invite them to follow your brother in a war for all of Creation.”
“Bull crap,” counters Dean eloquently. “We tell them that the biggest, baddest mofo that ever crawled out of Hell is on the loose, and it's up to every damn one of us to do something about it. I'm not about to lead some holy war, but there are people, families out there that need protecting. If they're going to fight for that I'll be right there beside them.”
Dean finishes his little tirade with a look that just dares anyone to argue with him, but disagreement is the last thing on Sam's mind. Right now, he couldn't be prouder of his big brother. Beneath all the misery and guilt, Sam can feel the tiniest flicker of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he will be up for the fight, despite it all.
After all, he's got something worth fighting for.
FIN