[Fic] Supernatural - That Old Story - Complete (Part 1/2)
Title: That Old Story
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: The characters featured herein do not belong to me, they belong to Kripke and Co.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence/scariness, minor slash, established relationship
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Season Seven/Eight ensemble
Spoilers/Timeline: This was written and occurs during the season eight mid-season hiatus but coincidentally contains vague spoilers up to and including 8.11
Word Count: 12 700
Summary: Dean gets a call from Garth about suspicious demon activity and it just so happens to coincide with Castiel's own personal mission. Though, as Winchesters, no job ever goes off without a hitch.
Author’s Notes: All right, this was written and completed during the mid-season hiatus, I had wanted to get it published before the show’s return but life got in the way. That having been said, it was written with very, very vague spoilers (I saw the 8.10 promo and knew it would be Castiel’s last episode for a while) quite a bit of it ended up occurring in some shape or form in the show itself but this is written with a slash and fandom twist and it has a bit of a better ending than the actual episode. So you can say this as an alternate episode 8.10. I hope everyone enjoys!
Big thanks to my beta Dapperscript!
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That Old Story - Part One
Dean was lying down in their small wooden row boat, his eyes closed to the harsh light of the midday sun, Castiel manning the oars. Their lines and tackle were on either side and they were taking a break until the fish decided to crawl closer to the surface again, when the heat of the day began to subside. He heard the soft cawing of gulls in the distance, the gentle pop and splash of small breakers on the side of the boat and the soft sift of Castiel when he decided to row them a few feet around the centre of the lake.
It was idyllic - until his phone rang.
Dean frowned but didn’t open his eyes, just grunted softly and stirred against the lifejackets he was using as a makeshift mattress. He knew he expressly forbade the use of cellphones on this trip and in fact had left his in his jacket inside their rented pick-up. The grating sound faded to little more than a dull buzz and Dean allowed himself to relax again. That is, until the phone trilled again, this time seemly more harsh than the last.
He sat bolt upright and his eyes shot open, but instead of encountering the mildly curious face of Castiel framed in the smooth backdrop of a lake the colour of his eyes, he encountered the harsh orange-red glow of the ‘no vacancy’ fluorescent sign outside of their motel room window and comparative darkness.
Dean groaned and fumbled around beside him for his cellphone. Sam slept on, deaf to the entire thing - the bitch. Dean, without glancing at the tiny contraption, smashed his thumb down on what he hoped was the answer key - but he didn’t give two fucks if it was the ignore key - and wedged the phone between his cheek and his pillow.
“Damnit, Cas you asshole, if this you,” only a few people had this particular number, “we are going to have one long, punishing conversation.”
“Wow there, TMI, Man! Hola amigo! ¿Cómo estás?”
“Garth? Dammit, do have any friggin’ idea what time it is?”
“Well, I’m sailing the sunny coat of Cali, Dude, and it’s a bright, beaut of a morning!”
“I’m certainly not the hell on the California coast, Garth, if the foot of snow has anything to say about it!” Dean snapped.
“Right, sorry, cúmbila, I forgot you bros were Nor-Easters. Forgive the slight.”
“Yeah, well, demons tend to avoid the warm, sunny States, never figured that one out,” Dean grumbled, finally pushing himself to a half-seated position against the pillows.
“Huh, maybe it reminds them too much of su casa.”
Dean snorted in wry amusement, “Yeah, I can see that about LA especially. Dude, what’s with all the Spanish?”
“Oh! I’m doing an online course, not much else to do while babysitting, other than answer phones. Speaking of, I got a call from your Girl Friday, said that there was a disturbance in the force and that the Golden Trio may wanna take a peek - her words.”
Dean frowned and pushed the thin sheet away, swinging his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed as he groped around in the dark for his jeans. “Girl Friday?”
“Wow, she figured you’d know her if I quoted that back to you. Tall, skinny, red-head?”
“Disturbance in the force… Charlie? What the hell? She showed up? I thought she was going to go deep under cover in Mordor or something.”
“‘One simply doesn’t walk into Mordor,’” Garth quoted. “I’d say 12 Grimmauld Place would be a better analogy with this one. Man, she was a babe!”
“Sorry, Dude, she plays for the opposite team.”
“Damn, good ones are always taken or gay,” Garth sighed.
Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, Garth, just tell me what she said, and how the hell did she figure the trio? We never mentioned Cas.”
“Girl’s got eyes everywhere. Guess she’s been keeping them peepers peeled on both the nasties that go bump in the night and you three. She seemed the paranoid type. Anyway, she mentioned that there was another dig going on, this one in some one horse town in Nevada: Faith’s Leap.”
“Faith’s Leap?” Dean furrowed his brow and reached across to snag Sam’s Android phone, typing in the name. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s tiny, Dude, right in the desert, ‘bout 1100 people. Apparently the town sits over an underground lake or something. Doesn’t ever leech to the surface, but if you drill down long enough you hit it. Some poor desperate settler probably found it by accident and, well, where there’s water, there’s folk. Hey… guess you get your sunny skies and warm weather after all!”
“Yeah, guess we do,” Dean said distractedly. “Did Charlie have any more details, Garth?”
“Nope, no more deets, other than her name is Devon now. She knows it definitely wasn’t Levi’s though. Sam took care of a lot of those before he went off the grid last year. I’m thinking demons. Don’t know why they’d be digging though. I thought their goal was always up.”
“Well, I may have an idea. Thanks Garth. We’ll let you know how it goes.”
“No problem, Pal. Talk to ya.”
“Oh, hey, before you go, how’re the Mrs. and the Kid?” Dean smirked.
Garth chuckled, “Good one. They’re cool, Mrs. Tran basically whipped this vessel into shipshape and I think Kevin is just liking being a kid for a bit again. No problems since you dropped them with me.”
“Good. Well, take it easy, Garth.”
“Always do!”
Dean listened to the dull drone of the dial tone before the increasingly fast and annoying sound got the better of him. He clicked it off and began plotting their course for Faith’s Leap, Nevada. Jesus, the name already didn’t bode well. But they were two days out and sooner tended to be better than later. He tossed a pillow from behind him and smirked as Sam stuttered awake, spluttering into the darkness.
“What the hell, Dean?”
“Garth called.”
Sam sat up quickly at that one, and even in the dim light Dean could suddenly see how sharp and alert his brother’s eyes were.
“Kevin okay?” Sam asked.
Dean blinked. “Ah, yeah, fine. Garth just called us about a job. Remember Charlie?”
Sam visible relaxed. “Yeah, of course. Hermione.”
Dean snorted, “Whatever. Anyway, she’s been keeping her eye on the radar apparently and she found something demon-y, in a place in Nevada called Faith’s Leap. We’re gonna check it out, make sure the entire thing isn’t run-over by Storm Troopers or whatever.”
“You’re such a geek,” Sam chortled.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you go jiggle your wand or whatever?”
“At least mine is literature.”
“Dude, Star Wars totally has literature. There’s a shit-ton of novels.”
Sam stretched up off the bed. “That’s not literature, Dean. That’s pulp fiction.”
“Now that was a good movie, Travolta or not,” Dean mused, heading to the washroom.
Sam rolled his eyes.
xx
The drive was arduous and boring; they still weren’t one hundred percent okay with each other so by the time they reached the town over from Faith’s leap (because there was no way Dean was camping out in a potentially demon infested town) tensions were high and they were sniping at each other. Finally, as they pulled into the parking lot, Dean conceded to turn down his blaring music and Sam breathed a vocal sigh of relief.
“Thank God,” the taller man said.
“Or whoever,” Dean couldn’t help but snipe back as he eased the Impala into the park and turned her off. He climbed out and shut the door. Sam did the same but slammed it closed with far more force than necessary. Dean winced as the usual creak almost became a whine and the entire body of the Impala shuddered.
“Fuck, watch it, Dude!” Dean snarled.
Sam didn’t answer, just leaned against his side of the car and waited for Dean to give him his bag, which Dean did, but he threw it against his chest so hard Sam was almost winded. Sam made no move to go in and book a room so Dean thanked the stars for small miracles. Maybe the fresh air would relax the kid a bit and they could have a civil conversation when they got back to the room. Dean paused mid-step as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
Dean returned with two sets of key and tossed one at Sam, who caught it instinctively and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re really that pissed about the car? Christ, Dean, I’ll detail it for you.”
“No, asshole, just got a text from Cas. Unless you want to sleep the night away with the winged wonder making doe-eyes at you, then by all means, I’ll the tell the chick in the office to drop the second room.”
“No, no!” Sam was quick to say. “Besides, it’s never me he makes doe-eyes at and we both know it.”
“Shut-up.” Dean ignored how his ears warmed up and blamed it on the bright desert sunshine. He didn’t admit out loud that they were a little past the dewy-eyed stage, hence the second room. With Cas, it was never really a guarantee what the angel would be up for but Dean learned after one or two uncomfortable romps in the backseat to never assume.
Sam went off and dropped his duffle in his own room then met Dean back at his a few moments later. The younger man chose not to comment on the single bed in the room, save for a lingering glance. For that, Dean was grateful.
His brother wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t blind to Dean’s… thing, whatever it was. Dean couldn’t for the life of him put a name to it, but they never really discussed it. It just wasn’t one day and then it was.
“So, we calling truce?” Sam offered up unceremoniously as he sat across from Dean at the tiny dining table.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “So, Charlie didn’t have much to go on - Oh, she’s Devon now by the way - but I got Garth to send over what she did manage to dig up.” Dean opened his email and forwarded the message to Sam, who smirked faintly at Garth’s own special brand of communication before he got to the imperative things.
“So, people have reported the smell of rotten eggs having started about a week ago, they blame it on leeching ground-water but weren’t able to find any traces. There have also been an odd amount of rooms booked in the area and strangers showing up kind of randomly. Looks like the official word is an archaeological dig because someone apparently reported evidence of a lost Navajo community.”
Dean snorted without looking up. “Now that’s just stupid. There weren’t Navajo in Nevada, it was primarily the Mojave Nation[1]. Demons could at least do their research before cooking up a bogus archaeological dig.”
Sam paused and started at his brother for numerous silent seconds. “Dude, really?”
“Dude, they were here first, due respect, right? Plus, way too many ancient curses to not appreciate this country’s First People. Especially in our line of work.”
“You were watching the History Channel with Cas again, weren’t you,” Sam said flatly.
“Shut-up.”
Castiel arrived not too long after that and the three of them had a quick dinner. Well, Dean and Sam had dinner, Castiel curiously ate some French fries and tried on multiple occasions to take a bite of Dean’s burger without the human noticing.
“Dude, just ask for one next time, it’s not like I’m gonna say no,” Dean huffed, as he finally surrendered his half-eaten burger to Castiel and settled down to morosely eat his remaining French fries.
“I don’t need to eat, Dean,” Castiel replied.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t like to, Cas,” Dean shot back.
Sam watched them, gently amused, and Dean ignored the knowing smirk on his brother’s lips.
“Look, Man, this offer remains for the next five seconds then I’m devouring that bad-boy. So you want it, take it now,” Dean demanded. “Five, four, three…” Dean never made it to ‘two’ Castiel reached out and snatched the burger from the wrapping, enjoying each savoury bite.
xx
Research exhausted, the only thing left to do was sleep and then head out to investigate the town the next morning. As Dean could have predicted, Castiel didn’t instigate anything during the night and Dean was never the one to instigate. Castiel knew his way around sex well enough, but Dean wasn’t sure if he was shy, uncertain, or just horny so rarely that only on occasion did he decide to indulge in Dean. It was a little disappointing but Dean shrugged it off soon enough. He was still getting laid a hell of a lot more than he had been in the last few years and that was a bonus in his book. Really, when it came right down to it, it was just nice to have someone in the bed next to him even if that someone didn’t sleep.
Dean wondered if he would ever really figure out what this thing was between them. This thing that they’d been playing with for the last four years off and on as the occasion called for it.
It had started out as sex; Dean had been determined for Castiel not to die a virgin. His seemingly inevitable death never came, of course, (that first time anyway) but Dean had gained himself a fuck-buddy. So yeah, at first it was just sex and then despite his best intentions it had transformed into something more. Connection, and good lord, intimacy. And frankly, it was nice.
Then the shit hit the fan with the Apocalypse that wasn’t and things kind of tail-spinned from there. Castiel had flitted off to Heaven and Dean had dragged himself to Lisa’s with his tail between his legs. Then Cas came back and Lisa was out of the picture and things had started up again, only for them to fall apart with Castiel’s betrayal, then apparent death. Though Cas did come back (he always came back) and that night, just before they ganked Dick, well, things were okay again. Then Purgatory happened and Dean got out and was left alone again. Since Castiel’s return though, they’d slowly been building trust between them, rekindling their friendship and their something more. Dean was trying, he was trying really, really hard and things were good. But still…
“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked sleepily into the dark.
“Yes, Dean.”
“You okay?”
“Yes, Dean.”
“You’ve been acting weird, kinda quiet, ever since that cartoon shit.”
“Have I?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Dean waited for Castiel to explain, but he didn’t. Dean wanted to urge Castiel to talk to him, but he didn’t. Something told Dean that the confusion over his weirdness was genuine and Dean would just pay closer attention and maybe they’d stumble on it together.
“I’m sorry, Dean, for being… weird. Perhaps I’m still adjusting to life after Purgatory. Though I do feel…” Castiel trailed off and Dean still didn’t turn. He waited.
When nothing was forthcoming, Dean prompted, “Feel? Talk to me, Man.”
Another long moment of silence and then, “I feel as if pieces of me are missing.”
At that, Dean sucked in a breath and rolled over; the rustling of the sheets was loud in the dim room. He took in Castiel’s slumped, nervous silhouette and pushed himself to a sitting position. He reached out and laid a hand gently on Castiel’s thigh.
“Tell me.”
Castiel met his eyes in the darkness and somehow, (angelically, Dean would assume) he could still see the blue; they seemed to be almost backlit. Dean had only really seen Castiel’s eyes glow from within a handful of times and never really had he looked for it. It was one of those things that if you didn’t think about it, or didn’t look hard enough, you’d miss it. It was beautiful though, and Dean reached up one calloused hand to trace two fingers around Castiel’s eye socket, ghosting over eyelids, down his sharp nose before eventually resting on the angel’s cheek. Castiel leaned into the caress and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, they were back to normal and Castiel was just a deeper shadow among shadows. Grey in the night like the rest of room.
Castiel opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Guys!”
Dean groaned at Sam’s urgent call and slammed his head back against the thin plaster of the wall. Dammit, Sammy! Every time!
Dean moved to get up and push himself off the bed, but Castiel was already up and waving a hand to open the door. Dean stood slower and stretched, still dressed in his clothing from earlier, with only his boots and over shirt discarded.
Sam limped into the room, the dead weight of a tiny form hanging at his side. Dean’s mouth fell open, understandably startled. Not expecting the now frail, gaunt form of the petite brunette that they were all too familiar with.
“Meg,” Castiel observed.
Meg lifted up her head and winced, Dean grimaced in sympathy (despite his best efforts) when he saw her. If anything, her face made it more apparent just how tormented she had been. Her pale skin was dappled with welt and bruise after welt and bruise. Her legs were held awkwardly, as if it were an effort just to make them move. She was sickly thin, little more than skin over frail bone. Meg had always been curvy in the past (and yeah, Dean had to admit, hot in this meat-suit) but now she was just a shadow of that.
“Hiya Clarence, miss me?” Meg still managed to purr out, her previously full lips curling up into what under normal circumstances would have been a coy, flirty smirk.
“How did you get out? More importantly, why the fuck are you here?” Dean demanded, still not over his shock at her presence and appearance but wanting answers nonetheless.
Sam eased her into one of the chairs at the small dining table and she collapsed into it gratefully, her legs sprawling ungainly.
“To help you, douche-wad, why else? I dragged my broken ass out of the pit just to find you, baby-cakes.” She drew in a rattling breath and Dean recognized it as the sound of someone who had blood in their lungs.
“Why?” Dean gritted.
“Oh Dean-o, we’re old pals, you and I. I always like helping out an old pal. Besides, I’m still on my screw Crowley broken and bloody mission, you’re the only idiots I trust with it - as sad as that is.”
Dean stared at her calculatingly; yes, they’d worked together in the past, though Dean wouldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. He hadn’t forgiven her, not by a long shot even with the help she had provided in the past. She’d done too much shit for that.
“Okay,” Dean said slowly, “how did you get out? What’s to say you aren’t a Crowley plant to get at us?”
Meg eased back on the chair and rolled her head towards Dean, still smirking. “I still got friends in low places, Dean. I would have been out earlier but the bastard ‘king’ took out my advanced guard. It took them a bit to get to me.”
Sam, Dean and Castiel shared brief looks. What he saw on Sam’s face very likely mirrored Dean’s own, the darkness of the memories of all that Meg had done. Castiel though, his face was carefully blank and Dean found that infuriating. He knew that Cas had developed a twisted sort of fondness for the demon and he knew it was mostly his fault, but he figured with Castiel’s head back on straight, he would have left that behind.
Dean was surprised when Sam chose to say, “All right, fine. But we don’t expect you to do this out of the goodness of your heart, Meg, so what’s in it for you besides screwing Crowley?”
“Wait, you’re falling for this, Sam?” Dean asked incredulously. “After all she did? Remember way back when, when we were looking for Dad? She nearly killed us all. Not to mention she took you over and played out her own special brand of a marionette show and she killed Jo and Ellen. Don’t you think we’ve given this bitch too much leeway as it is? As I see it, we’re finally close to getting rid of you, Meg, and that’s more than enough for me. Should be for all of us.”
“Why are you still in the same vessel?” Castiel asked suddenly, startling them all.
Meg’s smirk curled up more and, with noticeable effort, she rolled up her sleeve. “They used my own dirty tricks against me.” There, between all the bruising and wounds, stridently untouched was a small lock symbol branded into Meg’s skin. “Look, I can tell you the info, or I can’t. It’s up to you. Let’s just say Crowley wasn’t too subtle when he was going over his master plan because, arrogant bastard that he is, he probably figured I’d never make it out. I think he forgets that next to him, I’m one of the most powerful demons left and I want to be on your team.”
“Of course,” Castiel said quickly before either Winchester could jump in, “we would be greatly appreciative of any information you can provide.”
Despite obvious pain and the fact that had she been human she’d probably be dead long ago, Meg still managed to leer. “Oh yeah? How appreciative, Angel?”
Dean stepped forward and splayed a hand protectively across Castiel’s chest, his voice harsh when he said, “Not that appreciative.”
“Oh, I see you two are back in the ‘on-again’ phase of your relationship. Too bad, I could have given you a hell of a night, Clarence. But really, this info is practically free and you’ll like what I want in return, I promise.”
“Oh, is that so?” Dean asked clearly skeptical.
“I give you the goods and, in return, you kill me,” Meg said, serious for the first time.
“Done!” Dean said quickly. “It’s a deal, hopefully you don’t want a kiss. Now spill.”
“Dean,” Castiel said, his tone chastising.
“Why would you want us to kill you, Meg?” Sam asked, clearly surprised. “You tend to be a fight to survive type.”
“Look, Crowley wants me back, I’m his main competition and that advanced guard of mine he wiped out was also most of my loyalists. He’s not gonna stop until he has me back and then he isn’t gonna stop carving until he gets bored and, despite contrary belief, Crowley doesn’t get bored too easily. He enjoys torture almost as much as Alistair, and you and me both know how much that was, Dean.”
Dean winced.
“If I die, I win. He doesn’t break me and I get to go down in demon history as a martyr. You guys get your intel and you stop that snarky little cockney asshole before he gets what he’s after.”
“And what’s that?” Dean asked.
Meg let out another rattling breath and said, “Look, I’d hazard a guess that the half of the tablet he managed to snatch up was a hell of a lot more informative than yours, if you Neanderthals are still here twiddling your thumbs. Closing the gates permanently is a multi-tiered project, which means it can’t happen overnight. Crowley’s finding each vital point and he’s protecting them, warding them with any form of magic you can think of because there’s no way in hell (or whatever) that he’s letting you through. Capiche? The first gate is at the bottom of that life-saving little underground lake below Faith’s Leap. After all, through water is one way into Hell. You stop them and you’re one step closer to your life-long goal. So, who wants to do the honours?”
Dean pulled the demon-killing knife out from under his pillow and approached gladly. Sam stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Wait,” the taller man said. “Is that it, Meg? You just know about the one door?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “For now, you can’t exactly run the tablet through Google Translate. It’s taking them time, but they are figuring it out. Apparently they got some angel-boy on tether who somehow managed to weasel his way through the text. Don’t ask me how.”
“Perhaps The Word is not so impenetrable when the tablet is in pieces,” Castiel mused.
“Apparently they can only read the translations for particular places. They managed to figure out it was around this area and took the logical step to figuring it was the only tiny town that was raised by a miracle in the middle of a desert.”
“All right, great. Now where do you want it?” Dean moved to approach again, only to be stopped once more by Sam.
“This is your lucky day, Meg,” Sam said grimly.
“Wait… What?” Meg asked flatly.
“We need a man on the inside, or in your case, a demon. So we aren’t going to kill you. We’re going to send you back and you can find out more for us.”
“No way, nuh uh, no fucking way, you sadistic fucks can not send me back there? Dean, come on. Cas? You know what he’s capable of, you know what it’s like. I want to be killed, you want to kill me, we’re all happy, aren’t we?”
“I know I sure as shit am,” Dean said easily.
“Dean, Sam does have a point. We need the other half of the tablet and though their translation may have been an anomaly, it is not necessarily one. What’s to say we kill Meg as she wishes and Crowley does go on to translate more? We will not always have the luck of your friend Charlie finding oddities, demons can and will keep hidden. Also, I must rescue this angel and it would be helpful to do so if someone was nearby and already planted - so to speak. Meg can help me rescue the angel and keep us informed of Crowley’s doings.”
“Okay, I really thought we’d all had enough of working with demons because it’s always worked out so well for us in the past. What are you two, insane?” Dean snarled.
“Says the guy who’s BFFs with a vampire,” Sam sneered.
“Wow, Dean-o, I’m shocked,” Meg remarked, that infuriating smirk back on her face though the fear was still in her eyes.
“Stay out of this, Peanut-Gallery,” Dean snapped. He turned to Sam and Cas. “We are not bringing Benny into this right now. He ain’t the first Carebear with fangs we’ve come across - remember Lenore and her nest before they were all wiped out? This is about demons. Fucking demons and their fucking deals and their fucking back-stabbing. Never have we worked with one and had it turn out well for us.”
“What the hell, Dean? A year ago you were all gung-ho about sending Nurse Ratched here in with Castiel. Now suddenly we aren’t trusting her? She could help us, Dean!”
“Dad, Jo, Ellen, you. Ring any bells, Sam?”
“Yeah and add babysitter to Castiel, Crowley, and Dick to that list. I’m not saying I am ever going to be okay with what she did to us, Dean, but lately she’s done a hell of a lot more good than bad. This wouldn’t be the first monster gone light-side in our history, Dean, and I’m sick to death of your fucking double standards.” Sam snapped. He turned to Cas, “Clean her up, Cas. Just heal the inside and make the brand on her arm null and void, that way we can summon her when we want info.”
Meg pressed back into her chair and tried to raise her arms defensively. “No, I did not agree to this.”
“Too bad,” Sam said with a shrug. “Cas?”
“I’ll try, I’ve never attempted to heal a human vessel occupied by a demon before.”
“Dean!” Meg cried out, her tone and eyes pleading. “Dean! Kill me, please.”
Dean would have, he really would have, because one less monster from their past in the world was no skin off his nose, but unfortunately he could see Sam’s point (even if he would never admit it out loud). And also, if Castiel was determined enough, he would never let Dean through. Hell, the angel wouldn’t even break a sweat stopping him. Dean could also imagine all the horrible, twisted ways that Crowley would torture her. Didn’t even have to imagine really, Crowley was a creative son of a bitch and Dean had first-hand knowledge of just what you could do down there in the pit. The thought alone made his stomach roll and bile leech into his throat but he bit it back and looked away.
“No,” Meg whispered.
“This may kill you yet, Meg,” Castiel offered soberly in that tone he used when he tried to be comforting but missed it by a mile. “If it does, I am sorry. If it doesn’t, I am also so very sorry.”
Castiel pressed two fingers against Meg’s forehead and at the flare of light, Dean had to turn away, or perhaps that was just the excuse he used to not have to watch. When he looked back, Meg was slumped limply on the chair. Castiel caught her just before she slid to the floor and placed her gently on the bed.
“She survived then?” Dean said flatly.
“Yes, though the vessel is unoccupied aside from her. The girl within was dead a long, long time ago. I sent her on to her eternal rest,” Castiel replied.
“Good,” Sam said, slightly gleeful. “We may actually pull this thing off now.”
Dean didn’t share his brother’s joy. “Take her to the outskirts of town, Cas, Crowley’s boys should manage to find her and pick her up. If this goes sour it’s on you two. I need some air.”
Just before the door shut behind him, Dean heard the flutter of Castiel’s wings as he did as he was told. Dean tried to ignore the piercing burn of his brother’s stare at his back. Dean just hoped this was another thing they wouldn’t live to regret.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
[1] All right, so, as most of you know by now I’m Canadian and am using that form of reference for the First Nations and Native peoples. I’m hesitant to use tribe because that is not politically correct here nor is ‘Indian.’ However, if my Canadian reference is completely wrong when translated to American I will not get upset if you correct me.
Continued Here
Author: Stolen Childe
Disclaimer: The characters featured herein do not belong to me, they belong to Kripke and Co.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence/scariness, minor slash, established relationship
Pairings/Characters: Dean/Castiel, Season Seven/Eight ensemble
Spoilers/Timeline: This was written and occurs during the season eight mid-season hiatus but coincidentally contains vague spoilers up to and including 8.11
Word Count: 12 700
Summary: Dean gets a call from Garth about suspicious demon activity and it just so happens to coincide with Castiel's own personal mission. Though, as Winchesters, no job ever goes off without a hitch.
Author’s Notes: All right, this was written and completed during the mid-season hiatus, I had wanted to get it published before the show’s return but life got in the way. That having been said, it was written with very, very vague spoilers (I saw the 8.10 promo and knew it would be Castiel’s last episode for a while) quite a bit of it ended up occurring in some shape or form in the show itself but this is written with a slash and fandom twist and it has a bit of a better ending than the actual episode. So you can say this as an alternate episode 8.10. I hope everyone enjoys!
Big thanks to my beta Dapperscript!
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That Old Story - Part One
Dean was lying down in their small wooden row boat, his eyes closed to the harsh light of the midday sun, Castiel manning the oars. Their lines and tackle were on either side and they were taking a break until the fish decided to crawl closer to the surface again, when the heat of the day began to subside. He heard the soft cawing of gulls in the distance, the gentle pop and splash of small breakers on the side of the boat and the soft sift of Castiel when he decided to row them a few feet around the centre of the lake.
It was idyllic - until his phone rang.
Dean frowned but didn’t open his eyes, just grunted softly and stirred against the lifejackets he was using as a makeshift mattress. He knew he expressly forbade the use of cellphones on this trip and in fact had left his in his jacket inside their rented pick-up. The grating sound faded to little more than a dull buzz and Dean allowed himself to relax again. That is, until the phone trilled again, this time seemly more harsh than the last.
He sat bolt upright and his eyes shot open, but instead of encountering the mildly curious face of Castiel framed in the smooth backdrop of a lake the colour of his eyes, he encountered the harsh orange-red glow of the ‘no vacancy’ fluorescent sign outside of their motel room window and comparative darkness.
Dean groaned and fumbled around beside him for his cellphone. Sam slept on, deaf to the entire thing - the bitch. Dean, without glancing at the tiny contraption, smashed his thumb down on what he hoped was the answer key - but he didn’t give two fucks if it was the ignore key - and wedged the phone between his cheek and his pillow.
“Damnit, Cas you asshole, if this you,” only a few people had this particular number, “we are going to have one long, punishing conversation.”
“Wow there, TMI, Man! Hola amigo! ¿Cómo estás?”
“Garth? Dammit, do have any friggin’ idea what time it is?”
“Well, I’m sailing the sunny coat of Cali, Dude, and it’s a bright, beaut of a morning!”
“I’m certainly not the hell on the California coast, Garth, if the foot of snow has anything to say about it!” Dean snapped.
“Right, sorry, cúmbila, I forgot you bros were Nor-Easters. Forgive the slight.”
“Yeah, well, demons tend to avoid the warm, sunny States, never figured that one out,” Dean grumbled, finally pushing himself to a half-seated position against the pillows.
“Huh, maybe it reminds them too much of su casa.”
Dean snorted in wry amusement, “Yeah, I can see that about LA especially. Dude, what’s with all the Spanish?”
“Oh! I’m doing an online course, not much else to do while babysitting, other than answer phones. Speaking of, I got a call from your Girl Friday, said that there was a disturbance in the force and that the Golden Trio may wanna take a peek - her words.”
Dean frowned and pushed the thin sheet away, swinging his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed as he groped around in the dark for his jeans. “Girl Friday?”
“Wow, she figured you’d know her if I quoted that back to you. Tall, skinny, red-head?”
“Disturbance in the force… Charlie? What the hell? She showed up? I thought she was going to go deep under cover in Mordor or something.”
“‘One simply doesn’t walk into Mordor,’” Garth quoted. “I’d say 12 Grimmauld Place would be a better analogy with this one. Man, she was a babe!”
“Sorry, Dude, she plays for the opposite team.”
“Damn, good ones are always taken or gay,” Garth sighed.
Dean rolled his eyes. “All right, Garth, just tell me what she said, and how the hell did she figure the trio? We never mentioned Cas.”
“Girl’s got eyes everywhere. Guess she’s been keeping them peepers peeled on both the nasties that go bump in the night and you three. She seemed the paranoid type. Anyway, she mentioned that there was another dig going on, this one in some one horse town in Nevada: Faith’s Leap.”
“Faith’s Leap?” Dean furrowed his brow and reached across to snag Sam’s Android phone, typing in the name. “Never heard of it.”
“It’s tiny, Dude, right in the desert, ‘bout 1100 people. Apparently the town sits over an underground lake or something. Doesn’t ever leech to the surface, but if you drill down long enough you hit it. Some poor desperate settler probably found it by accident and, well, where there’s water, there’s folk. Hey… guess you get your sunny skies and warm weather after all!”
“Yeah, guess we do,” Dean said distractedly. “Did Charlie have any more details, Garth?”
“Nope, no more deets, other than her name is Devon now. She knows it definitely wasn’t Levi’s though. Sam took care of a lot of those before he went off the grid last year. I’m thinking demons. Don’t know why they’d be digging though. I thought their goal was always up.”
“Well, I may have an idea. Thanks Garth. We’ll let you know how it goes.”
“No problem, Pal. Talk to ya.”
“Oh, hey, before you go, how’re the Mrs. and the Kid?” Dean smirked.
Garth chuckled, “Good one. They’re cool, Mrs. Tran basically whipped this vessel into shipshape and I think Kevin is just liking being a kid for a bit again. No problems since you dropped them with me.”
“Good. Well, take it easy, Garth.”
“Always do!”
Dean listened to the dull drone of the dial tone before the increasingly fast and annoying sound got the better of him. He clicked it off and began plotting their course for Faith’s Leap, Nevada. Jesus, the name already didn’t bode well. But they were two days out and sooner tended to be better than later. He tossed a pillow from behind him and smirked as Sam stuttered awake, spluttering into the darkness.
“What the hell, Dean?”
“Garth called.”
Sam sat up quickly at that one, and even in the dim light Dean could suddenly see how sharp and alert his brother’s eyes were.
“Kevin okay?” Sam asked.
Dean blinked. “Ah, yeah, fine. Garth just called us about a job. Remember Charlie?”
Sam visible relaxed. “Yeah, of course. Hermione.”
Dean snorted, “Whatever. Anyway, she’s been keeping her eye on the radar apparently and she found something demon-y, in a place in Nevada called Faith’s Leap. We’re gonna check it out, make sure the entire thing isn’t run-over by Storm Troopers or whatever.”
“You’re such a geek,” Sam chortled.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you go jiggle your wand or whatever?”
“At least mine is literature.”
“Dude, Star Wars totally has literature. There’s a shit-ton of novels.”
Sam stretched up off the bed. “That’s not literature, Dean. That’s pulp fiction.”
“Now that was a good movie, Travolta or not,” Dean mused, heading to the washroom.
Sam rolled his eyes.
xx
The drive was arduous and boring; they still weren’t one hundred percent okay with each other so by the time they reached the town over from Faith’s leap (because there was no way Dean was camping out in a potentially demon infested town) tensions were high and they were sniping at each other. Finally, as they pulled into the parking lot, Dean conceded to turn down his blaring music and Sam breathed a vocal sigh of relief.
“Thank God,” the taller man said.
“Or whoever,” Dean couldn’t help but snipe back as he eased the Impala into the park and turned her off. He climbed out and shut the door. Sam did the same but slammed it closed with far more force than necessary. Dean winced as the usual creak almost became a whine and the entire body of the Impala shuddered.
“Fuck, watch it, Dude!” Dean snarled.
Sam didn’t answer, just leaned against his side of the car and waited for Dean to give him his bag, which Dean did, but he threw it against his chest so hard Sam was almost winded. Sam made no move to go in and book a room so Dean thanked the stars for small miracles. Maybe the fresh air would relax the kid a bit and they could have a civil conversation when they got back to the room. Dean paused mid-step as he felt his phone buzz in his pocket.
Dean returned with two sets of key and tossed one at Sam, who caught it instinctively and raised an eyebrow.
“You’re really that pissed about the car? Christ, Dean, I’ll detail it for you.”
“No, asshole, just got a text from Cas. Unless you want to sleep the night away with the winged wonder making doe-eyes at you, then by all means, I’ll the tell the chick in the office to drop the second room.”
“No, no!” Sam was quick to say. “Besides, it’s never me he makes doe-eyes at and we both know it.”
“Shut-up.” Dean ignored how his ears warmed up and blamed it on the bright desert sunshine. He didn’t admit out loud that they were a little past the dewy-eyed stage, hence the second room. With Cas, it was never really a guarantee what the angel would be up for but Dean learned after one or two uncomfortable romps in the backseat to never assume.
Sam went off and dropped his duffle in his own room then met Dean back at his a few moments later. The younger man chose not to comment on the single bed in the room, save for a lingering glance. For that, Dean was grateful.
His brother wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t blind to Dean’s… thing, whatever it was. Dean couldn’t for the life of him put a name to it, but they never really discussed it. It just wasn’t one day and then it was.
“So, we calling truce?” Sam offered up unceremoniously as he sat across from Dean at the tiny dining table.
“Yeah,” Dean agreed. “So, Charlie didn’t have much to go on - Oh, she’s Devon now by the way - but I got Garth to send over what she did manage to dig up.” Dean opened his email and forwarded the message to Sam, who smirked faintly at Garth’s own special brand of communication before he got to the imperative things.
“So, people have reported the smell of rotten eggs having started about a week ago, they blame it on leeching ground-water but weren’t able to find any traces. There have also been an odd amount of rooms booked in the area and strangers showing up kind of randomly. Looks like the official word is an archaeological dig because someone apparently reported evidence of a lost Navajo community.”
Dean snorted without looking up. “Now that’s just stupid. There weren’t Navajo in Nevada, it was primarily the Mojave Nation[1]. Demons could at least do their research before cooking up a bogus archaeological dig.”
Sam paused and started at his brother for numerous silent seconds. “Dude, really?”
“Dude, they were here first, due respect, right? Plus, way too many ancient curses to not appreciate this country’s First People. Especially in our line of work.”
“You were watching the History Channel with Cas again, weren’t you,” Sam said flatly.
“Shut-up.”
Castiel arrived not too long after that and the three of them had a quick dinner. Well, Dean and Sam had dinner, Castiel curiously ate some French fries and tried on multiple occasions to take a bite of Dean’s burger without the human noticing.
“Dude, just ask for one next time, it’s not like I’m gonna say no,” Dean huffed, as he finally surrendered his half-eaten burger to Castiel and settled down to morosely eat his remaining French fries.
“I don’t need to eat, Dean,” Castiel replied.
“Doesn’t mean you don’t like to, Cas,” Dean shot back.
Sam watched them, gently amused, and Dean ignored the knowing smirk on his brother’s lips.
“Look, Man, this offer remains for the next five seconds then I’m devouring that bad-boy. So you want it, take it now,” Dean demanded. “Five, four, three…” Dean never made it to ‘two’ Castiel reached out and snatched the burger from the wrapping, enjoying each savoury bite.
xx
Research exhausted, the only thing left to do was sleep and then head out to investigate the town the next morning. As Dean could have predicted, Castiel didn’t instigate anything during the night and Dean was never the one to instigate. Castiel knew his way around sex well enough, but Dean wasn’t sure if he was shy, uncertain, or just horny so rarely that only on occasion did he decide to indulge in Dean. It was a little disappointing but Dean shrugged it off soon enough. He was still getting laid a hell of a lot more than he had been in the last few years and that was a bonus in his book. Really, when it came right down to it, it was just nice to have someone in the bed next to him even if that someone didn’t sleep.
Dean wondered if he would ever really figure out what this thing was between them. This thing that they’d been playing with for the last four years off and on as the occasion called for it.
It had started out as sex; Dean had been determined for Castiel not to die a virgin. His seemingly inevitable death never came, of course, (that first time anyway) but Dean had gained himself a fuck-buddy. So yeah, at first it was just sex and then despite his best intentions it had transformed into something more. Connection, and good lord, intimacy. And frankly, it was nice.
Then the shit hit the fan with the Apocalypse that wasn’t and things kind of tail-spinned from there. Castiel had flitted off to Heaven and Dean had dragged himself to Lisa’s with his tail between his legs. Then Cas came back and Lisa was out of the picture and things had started up again, only for them to fall apart with Castiel’s betrayal, then apparent death. Though Cas did come back (he always came back) and that night, just before they ganked Dick, well, things were okay again. Then Purgatory happened and Dean got out and was left alone again. Since Castiel’s return though, they’d slowly been building trust between them, rekindling their friendship and their something more. Dean was trying, he was trying really, really hard and things were good. But still…
“Hey, Cas?” Dean asked sleepily into the dark.
“Yes, Dean.”
“You okay?”
“Yes, Dean.”
“You’ve been acting weird, kinda quiet, ever since that cartoon shit.”
“Have I?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Dean waited for Castiel to explain, but he didn’t. Dean wanted to urge Castiel to talk to him, but he didn’t. Something told Dean that the confusion over his weirdness was genuine and Dean would just pay closer attention and maybe they’d stumble on it together.
“I’m sorry, Dean, for being… weird. Perhaps I’m still adjusting to life after Purgatory. Though I do feel…” Castiel trailed off and Dean still didn’t turn. He waited.
When nothing was forthcoming, Dean prompted, “Feel? Talk to me, Man.”
Another long moment of silence and then, “I feel as if pieces of me are missing.”
At that, Dean sucked in a breath and rolled over; the rustling of the sheets was loud in the dim room. He took in Castiel’s slumped, nervous silhouette and pushed himself to a sitting position. He reached out and laid a hand gently on Castiel’s thigh.
“Tell me.”
Castiel met his eyes in the darkness and somehow, (angelically, Dean would assume) he could still see the blue; they seemed to be almost backlit. Dean had only really seen Castiel’s eyes glow from within a handful of times and never really had he looked for it. It was one of those things that if you didn’t think about it, or didn’t look hard enough, you’d miss it. It was beautiful though, and Dean reached up one calloused hand to trace two fingers around Castiel’s eye socket, ghosting over eyelids, down his sharp nose before eventually resting on the angel’s cheek. Castiel leaned into the caress and shut his eyes. When he opened them again, they were back to normal and Castiel was just a deeper shadow among shadows. Grey in the night like the rest of room.
Castiel opened his mouth to respond but was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Guys!”
Dean groaned at Sam’s urgent call and slammed his head back against the thin plaster of the wall. Dammit, Sammy! Every time!
Dean moved to get up and push himself off the bed, but Castiel was already up and waving a hand to open the door. Dean stood slower and stretched, still dressed in his clothing from earlier, with only his boots and over shirt discarded.
Sam limped into the room, the dead weight of a tiny form hanging at his side. Dean’s mouth fell open, understandably startled. Not expecting the now frail, gaunt form of the petite brunette that they were all too familiar with.
“Meg,” Castiel observed.
Meg lifted up her head and winced, Dean grimaced in sympathy (despite his best efforts) when he saw her. If anything, her face made it more apparent just how tormented she had been. Her pale skin was dappled with welt and bruise after welt and bruise. Her legs were held awkwardly, as if it were an effort just to make them move. She was sickly thin, little more than skin over frail bone. Meg had always been curvy in the past (and yeah, Dean had to admit, hot in this meat-suit) but now she was just a shadow of that.
“Hiya Clarence, miss me?” Meg still managed to purr out, her previously full lips curling up into what under normal circumstances would have been a coy, flirty smirk.
“How did you get out? More importantly, why the fuck are you here?” Dean demanded, still not over his shock at her presence and appearance but wanting answers nonetheless.
Sam eased her into one of the chairs at the small dining table and she collapsed into it gratefully, her legs sprawling ungainly.
“To help you, douche-wad, why else? I dragged my broken ass out of the pit just to find you, baby-cakes.” She drew in a rattling breath and Dean recognized it as the sound of someone who had blood in their lungs.
“Why?” Dean gritted.
“Oh Dean-o, we’re old pals, you and I. I always like helping out an old pal. Besides, I’m still on my screw Crowley broken and bloody mission, you’re the only idiots I trust with it - as sad as that is.”
Dean stared at her calculatingly; yes, they’d worked together in the past, though Dean wouldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. He hadn’t forgiven her, not by a long shot even with the help she had provided in the past. She’d done too much shit for that.
“Okay,” Dean said slowly, “how did you get out? What’s to say you aren’t a Crowley plant to get at us?”
Meg eased back on the chair and rolled her head towards Dean, still smirking. “I still got friends in low places, Dean. I would have been out earlier but the bastard ‘king’ took out my advanced guard. It took them a bit to get to me.”
Sam, Dean and Castiel shared brief looks. What he saw on Sam’s face very likely mirrored Dean’s own, the darkness of the memories of all that Meg had done. Castiel though, his face was carefully blank and Dean found that infuriating. He knew that Cas had developed a twisted sort of fondness for the demon and he knew it was mostly his fault, but he figured with Castiel’s head back on straight, he would have left that behind.
Dean was surprised when Sam chose to say, “All right, fine. But we don’t expect you to do this out of the goodness of your heart, Meg, so what’s in it for you besides screwing Crowley?”
“Wait, you’re falling for this, Sam?” Dean asked incredulously. “After all she did? Remember way back when, when we were looking for Dad? She nearly killed us all. Not to mention she took you over and played out her own special brand of a marionette show and she killed Jo and Ellen. Don’t you think we’ve given this bitch too much leeway as it is? As I see it, we’re finally close to getting rid of you, Meg, and that’s more than enough for me. Should be for all of us.”
“Why are you still in the same vessel?” Castiel asked suddenly, startling them all.
Meg’s smirk curled up more and, with noticeable effort, she rolled up her sleeve. “They used my own dirty tricks against me.” There, between all the bruising and wounds, stridently untouched was a small lock symbol branded into Meg’s skin. “Look, I can tell you the info, or I can’t. It’s up to you. Let’s just say Crowley wasn’t too subtle when he was going over his master plan because, arrogant bastard that he is, he probably figured I’d never make it out. I think he forgets that next to him, I’m one of the most powerful demons left and I want to be on your team.”
“Of course,” Castiel said quickly before either Winchester could jump in, “we would be greatly appreciative of any information you can provide.”
Despite obvious pain and the fact that had she been human she’d probably be dead long ago, Meg still managed to leer. “Oh yeah? How appreciative, Angel?”
Dean stepped forward and splayed a hand protectively across Castiel’s chest, his voice harsh when he said, “Not that appreciative.”
“Oh, I see you two are back in the ‘on-again’ phase of your relationship. Too bad, I could have given you a hell of a night, Clarence. But really, this info is practically free and you’ll like what I want in return, I promise.”
“Oh, is that so?” Dean asked clearly skeptical.
“I give you the goods and, in return, you kill me,” Meg said, serious for the first time.
“Done!” Dean said quickly. “It’s a deal, hopefully you don’t want a kiss. Now spill.”
“Dean,” Castiel said, his tone chastising.
“Why would you want us to kill you, Meg?” Sam asked, clearly surprised. “You tend to be a fight to survive type.”
“Look, Crowley wants me back, I’m his main competition and that advanced guard of mine he wiped out was also most of my loyalists. He’s not gonna stop until he has me back and then he isn’t gonna stop carving until he gets bored and, despite contrary belief, Crowley doesn’t get bored too easily. He enjoys torture almost as much as Alistair, and you and me both know how much that was, Dean.”
Dean winced.
“If I die, I win. He doesn’t break me and I get to go down in demon history as a martyr. You guys get your intel and you stop that snarky little cockney asshole before he gets what he’s after.”
“And what’s that?” Dean asked.
Meg let out another rattling breath and said, “Look, I’d hazard a guess that the half of the tablet he managed to snatch up was a hell of a lot more informative than yours, if you Neanderthals are still here twiddling your thumbs. Closing the gates permanently is a multi-tiered project, which means it can’t happen overnight. Crowley’s finding each vital point and he’s protecting them, warding them with any form of magic you can think of because there’s no way in hell (or whatever) that he’s letting you through. Capiche? The first gate is at the bottom of that life-saving little underground lake below Faith’s Leap. After all, through water is one way into Hell. You stop them and you’re one step closer to your life-long goal. So, who wants to do the honours?”
Dean pulled the demon-killing knife out from under his pillow and approached gladly. Sam stopped him with a hand on his chest.
“Wait,” the taller man said. “Is that it, Meg? You just know about the one door?”
Meg rolled her eyes. “For now, you can’t exactly run the tablet through Google Translate. It’s taking them time, but they are figuring it out. Apparently they got some angel-boy on tether who somehow managed to weasel his way through the text. Don’t ask me how.”
“Perhaps The Word is not so impenetrable when the tablet is in pieces,” Castiel mused.
“Apparently they can only read the translations for particular places. They managed to figure out it was around this area and took the logical step to figuring it was the only tiny town that was raised by a miracle in the middle of a desert.”
“All right, great. Now where do you want it?” Dean moved to approach again, only to be stopped once more by Sam.
“This is your lucky day, Meg,” Sam said grimly.
“Wait… What?” Meg asked flatly.
“We need a man on the inside, or in your case, a demon. So we aren’t going to kill you. We’re going to send you back and you can find out more for us.”
“No way, nuh uh, no fucking way, you sadistic fucks can not send me back there? Dean, come on. Cas? You know what he’s capable of, you know what it’s like. I want to be killed, you want to kill me, we’re all happy, aren’t we?”
“I know I sure as shit am,” Dean said easily.
“Dean, Sam does have a point. We need the other half of the tablet and though their translation may have been an anomaly, it is not necessarily one. What’s to say we kill Meg as she wishes and Crowley does go on to translate more? We will not always have the luck of your friend Charlie finding oddities, demons can and will keep hidden. Also, I must rescue this angel and it would be helpful to do so if someone was nearby and already planted - so to speak. Meg can help me rescue the angel and keep us informed of Crowley’s doings.”
“Okay, I really thought we’d all had enough of working with demons because it’s always worked out so well for us in the past. What are you two, insane?” Dean snarled.
“Says the guy who’s BFFs with a vampire,” Sam sneered.
“Wow, Dean-o, I’m shocked,” Meg remarked, that infuriating smirk back on her face though the fear was still in her eyes.
“Stay out of this, Peanut-Gallery,” Dean snapped. He turned to Sam and Cas. “We are not bringing Benny into this right now. He ain’t the first Carebear with fangs we’ve come across - remember Lenore and her nest before they were all wiped out? This is about demons. Fucking demons and their fucking deals and their fucking back-stabbing. Never have we worked with one and had it turn out well for us.”
“What the hell, Dean? A year ago you were all gung-ho about sending Nurse Ratched here in with Castiel. Now suddenly we aren’t trusting her? She could help us, Dean!”
“Dad, Jo, Ellen, you. Ring any bells, Sam?”
“Yeah and add babysitter to Castiel, Crowley, and Dick to that list. I’m not saying I am ever going to be okay with what she did to us, Dean, but lately she’s done a hell of a lot more good than bad. This wouldn’t be the first monster gone light-side in our history, Dean, and I’m sick to death of your fucking double standards.” Sam snapped. He turned to Cas, “Clean her up, Cas. Just heal the inside and make the brand on her arm null and void, that way we can summon her when we want info.”
Meg pressed back into her chair and tried to raise her arms defensively. “No, I did not agree to this.”
“Too bad,” Sam said with a shrug. “Cas?”
“I’ll try, I’ve never attempted to heal a human vessel occupied by a demon before.”
“Dean!” Meg cried out, her tone and eyes pleading. “Dean! Kill me, please.”
Dean would have, he really would have, because one less monster from their past in the world was no skin off his nose, but unfortunately he could see Sam’s point (even if he would never admit it out loud). And also, if Castiel was determined enough, he would never let Dean through. Hell, the angel wouldn’t even break a sweat stopping him. Dean could also imagine all the horrible, twisted ways that Crowley would torture her. Didn’t even have to imagine really, Crowley was a creative son of a bitch and Dean had first-hand knowledge of just what you could do down there in the pit. The thought alone made his stomach roll and bile leech into his throat but he bit it back and looked away.
“No,” Meg whispered.
“This may kill you yet, Meg,” Castiel offered soberly in that tone he used when he tried to be comforting but missed it by a mile. “If it does, I am sorry. If it doesn’t, I am also so very sorry.”
Castiel pressed two fingers against Meg’s forehead and at the flare of light, Dean had to turn away, or perhaps that was just the excuse he used to not have to watch. When he looked back, Meg was slumped limply on the chair. Castiel caught her just before she slid to the floor and placed her gently on the bed.
“She survived then?” Dean said flatly.
“Yes, though the vessel is unoccupied aside from her. The girl within was dead a long, long time ago. I sent her on to her eternal rest,” Castiel replied.
“Good,” Sam said, slightly gleeful. “We may actually pull this thing off now.”
Dean didn’t share his brother’s joy. “Take her to the outskirts of town, Cas, Crowley’s boys should manage to find her and pick her up. If this goes sour it’s on you two. I need some air.”
Just before the door shut behind him, Dean heard the flutter of Castiel’s wings as he did as he was told. Dean tried to ignore the piercing burn of his brother’s stare at his back. Dean just hoped this was another thing they wouldn’t live to regret.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
[1] All right, so, as most of you know by now I’m Canadian and am using that form of reference for the First Nations and Native peoples. I’m hesitant to use tribe because that is not politically correct here nor is ‘Indian.’ However, if my Canadian reference is completely wrong when translated to American I will not get upset if you correct me.
Continued Here