(no subject)
Title: Some Rise by Sin, and by Virtue Fall (2/2)
Rating: R for violence and swearing
Summary: The end of a war.
<< Part 1
2. The Tragedy
Hunting angels wasn't like hunting other supernatural beings.
For one, they were way more powerful than pretty much anything hunters had ever encountered before, and they were sneaky.
Dean should've seen it, in the way Castiel sidestepped rules even though he maintained they were absolute. In the way Zachariah used whatever he could to influence Dean. In the way Michael was so sure of himself, so sure he would win. It should have been a clue, Dean thought, that they were all related to Lucifer.
And that was the other weird thing because when it came down to it Dean was hunting Castiel's brothers and sisters. Sometimes, if he thought about it like that, he felt like an asshole and the shittiest friend in history.
But Crowley asked- no, ordered- and so they obeyed.
"There are fewer and fewer of the feathery freaks on Earth every day," Crowley said. "Your angel boyfriend is sending them all to their rooms to think about what they've done."
The demon bastard wanted an angel for his collection, and helping him felt a lot like betrayal.
The worst thing, though, was Sam.
"We should ask Cas," he suggested, and Dean stared at his brother in- he wasn’t sure what- shock? Horror maybe? Because Dean did not want to think that Sam was so far gone he'd offer up Cas as sacrificial lamb. Then again, he'd offered up his own brother.
It shouldn't have surprised him, but it still did. Every fucking time.
"We are not handing over Cas," Dean told him, and tried to make it sound final. No arguments. End of discussion.
Yeah. Like that would ever work. "Why not?" Sam asked.
"Because we are not handing over our friend to a freaking demon!" That Dean even had to explain it burned.
Sam shook his head. "It won't be like that. We tell Cas what we‘re doing. I know he'd agree if you asked him. Then he could find out what Crowley's really trying to do."
"And how would we help him, if it went wrong?" Dean demanded. "What if there isn't anything more to Crowley's evil master plans than him being a douchebag Hitler wannabe?"
"Cas can take care of himself," Sam insisted.
"Like he did when the other angels ripped him to pieces? Like he did when Lucifer killed him? Or when Raphael killed him?"
It still made Dean mad to think that Cas’s own family could do that to him. Dean remembered the blood and the long, deep cuts, and how all Castiel had was a scared, clueless cherub called Jeff to help him.
Sam gave him a weird look, like Dean was some fascinating new species of insect.
"Yeah. I remember."
Dean didn't like the way Sam spoke, like he'd just worked something out.
"Good. We're not hunting Cas. We're not asking him."
Dean would like to have told Sam they weren't hunting angels at all, because there was no way that could end well, but Crowley threatened and he made promises Dean knew he'd never keep. Like, "Get me a shiny holy angel and I'll give you Sam's soul," and "Don't get me an angel and I'll make sure you never see Sam's soul ever again."
Dean hated the way Sam didn't look all that bothered by the prospect.
Lately, Dean'd gotten the feeling that Sam was starting to think having a soul was more of a burden than it was worth. Dean could get that, because all a soul meant was pain and guilt and doubt, but the thought of his brother like this, permanently stuck in a cycle of hunt-rinse-repeat, never getting to have Sam back to the way he used to be, made Dean sick.
It occurred to Dean that he'd better warn Cas, in case Sam went behind his back and trapped Cas to hand him over anyway. That really fucking hurt. Cas trusted them both with the tools to hunt and to hurt his own kind, and using them to track and capture other angels was not something Dean was comfortable with. Sam would call him sentimental, or some shit, but then Sam wasn't Sam anymore.
When Sam was out doing not-Sam things, Dean called Cas.
***
"You answered."
It was late, but Dean didn't expect Sam to be back that night. From what he knew of angels he guessed it didn’t make much difference what time of day it was. If it was dark or light. Except Cas's little minion guy, apparently, hadn't liked the nighttime. When they'd dragged Cas out to the car that first time they'd met, with Cas clenching his teeth in pain, Jeff had not liked the absence of the sun at all, shying away from the light of the moon like it physically hurt him. It was weird. Dean would've pegged cupids for night lovers- being the time for romance- or something. But who the hell knew? Angels were freaky and made no sense most of the time.
Cas replied, "I answered. What is it you need?"
Dean had to wonder is the new, more helpful Castiel was his way of saying thanks for saving his ass. It hadn't been long since Dean had walked in on him half-dead, and the last time Dean had seen Cas he'd still been noticeably slower in the way he moved, tiredness showing in his eyes. His little minion had come too, hovering nervously at Cas's side. He wasn't there now.
"You lose your fanboy?"
They'd based themselves at a slightly more upscale motel than usual, and it came with a refrigerator full of beer. Dean moved to pull two bottles out, handing one out to Castiel.
It was, Dean had to admit, an invitation, and Cas took it, moving right up into Dean's space.
"He is not my fanboy," Cas said, twisting the bottle cap off with his right hand without even looking down. Holding Dean's gaze again. Dean wondered what Cas would do if, just once, Dean didn't stare right back.
"Looked like it to me." Dean tipped his own beer towards Cas, and was stupidly pleased when Cas actually got the message and pulled the cap off his bottle too.
It bothered him, that some helpless cherub could go places with Cas he couldn't. That he was all Cas had to watch his back when Dean wasn't there.
"Does he even know how to fight?"
"All angels know how to fight."
Right. Angels were soldiers. He'd heard it before, even if Dean couldn't quite believe it when he remembered the naked, hugging angel. Or Gabriel.
"But," Castiel said, still not moving away, the bottle of beer held awkwardly in his hand. Dean wondered if he meant to drink it. "You didn't call me here to talk about Jehoel."
Dean nodded, taking a step back and turning away, because he was pretty sure that Cas wasn't going to like what he had to say. Dean didn't like what he had to say. Taking a long pull from the drink he wondered how Cas would take it. It wasn't like they'd actually agreed to anything.
"Dean," Cas urged, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Crowley's looking for angels," Dean said.
It was, Dean had often found, a whole lot easier just to get it all out in one try than to sugarcoat anything. And what the hell was he so worried about anyway? He hadn't done anything. It was just, he kind of knew how he'd feel if someone told him they were hunting his family. Maybe.
"He's got the Campbell's in on it." Dean paused and took another pull on his drink, because this sucked to admit. "Sam thought we should ask you to give yourself up to Crowley. Find out what he's really up to."
For a long while Cas didn't say anything, and his expression remained blank, and it made Dean really freaking nervous.
"I told him no."
"It's a sound strategy," Cas remarked.
Dean didn't even think before he was telling Cas, "Hell no." He pointed at Castiel, like it might make him more convincing. "There is no way you are giving yourself up to Crowley. I don't give a crap how strategically brilliant the idea is."
Cas raised his eyebrows, and Dean didn't have a clue what that was supposed to mean. "I wasn't suggesting it, Dean," Cas assured him. "I was just commenting that Sam's thinking is logical. I understand why he came to this conclusion."
Yeah, and now Dean looked like a psycho or something. He didn't even know what he'd been thinking.
Maybe that was the point; that he hadn't been thinking.
He'd been reacting to the thought of Cas being in Crowley's nasty demon hands. Torturing him. Dean had already seen enough of Cas's blood in the last few weeks, and Dean wasn't going to be embarrassed because he didn't want to see his friend get ripped to shreds when they'd just put him back together.
"Right. Good," Dean said.
They stood in the motel room, Dean drinking from his beer and Cas not drinking from his, not looking at each other anymore, and Dean wondered when the fuck things had gotten weird between them.
Maybe it was when Cas had died and been brought back as angelic overlord. Maybe it was when Cas was a dick who didn't answer Dean's calls. Sam's calls.
Or maybe it was when Dean had walked into a dingy motel room in Illinois to find Cas lying in a red mess of his own blood as it seeped into the carpet. What the hell did he know.
"You think... the Campbells will try to hunt angels," Cas said after a long silence, and Dean appreciated the offered change of conversation. It was sometimes kind of cool, Dean thought, that they were both so useless at emotional crap. At talking about shit.
Dean knew that one day something was going to have to change. Maybe it already had, when Dean had hung out while Cas was knitting himself back together, making sure no one could get near enough to hurt him.
It wasn't hard to understand, Dean told himself. He'd never really had many people he cared about, so whenever he did find someone he maybe liked sometimes he hung onto them. Cas might've been an asshole angel, but he was an asshole angel who'd died for him, and fought with him, and stayed with him, and with Sam, and if there was anything in the world that meant something to Dean it was that.
Dean wasn't about to let anyone get to Cas again, if he could help it.
That would just be a waste of all his hard work keeping the bastard alive.
"They will, yeah," Dean agreed. "I don't know who, but I'll let you know if I hear anything."
Fuck, this sucked. "I should be able to keep Sam out of it," he added, and really hoped he could because Dean didn't know what he'd do if Sam betrayed him like this. Betrayed Cas. "He's kind of unpredictable."
"If it suits his purpose then he will be involved," Cas said sensibly. He didn't even seem that bothered. Except, then, he looked consideringly down at where he was holding the beer bottle, the condensed water dripping down onto his hand. "Though I would prefer if he didn't."
Cas had been Sam's friend too, Dean guessed. The same way that Dean had been Sam's brother. It was hard to tell if that meant anything any more.
Dean nodded his head towards Castiel's hand. "Drink your beer."
Cas did.
***
Jehoel had noticed, in the short time he had known Dean Winchester, how much the human called to Castiel.
Sometimes, if Jehoel was close enough, he could hear the echoes of Dean's prayers, and they were everything from pleading to irritated to teasing. It was, to Jehoel, disrespectful and inappropriate, except that Castiel didn't seem to mind. In the same way, he would not let other angels bow to him, or try to curry his favour. Castiel all but rejected the old ways of hierarchy and submissiveness. He encouraged others to speak their minds, and to criticise him. It was a dangerous thing to do, for there were still many angels who were more powerful than Castiel, and there were still angels who had once caused him very great pain- who had tortured him- but still Castiel listened. He didn't ignore them.
He did not ignore Dean Winchester either.
Castiel might not always reply, or be able to go to Earth to assist him, but he would always listen. It was something Jehoel had never seen before- this strange companionship between man and angel.
Jehoel thought it was something their Father would have approved of, even if some of the other angels did not.
Perhaps they were just jealous.
In any case, Dean Winchester prayed, and he called Castiel on his infernal cell phone, which, if Jehoel slept, he was sure he would have nightmares about.
Once, Castiel- busy with a ragged, exhausted group of angels recently back from fighting Raphael's followers- asked Jehoel to answer the cursed thing as it rang and rang, even when it shouldn't have been able to even exist within Heaven.
There was very little Jehoel could refuse Castiel, however.
"Cas," he heard as soon as he picked up. Dean sounded serious and harried. "You took freaking long enough to answer."
"Castiel is busy, Dean Winchester," Jehoel told him, carefully wrapping his voice in human vocal chords.
"Fuck," Dean swore. "Jeff, that you?"
It was a name Dean Winchester insisted on calling him since they had first met, and Jehoel couldn't decide if it was meant as an insult or not.
"Jehoel," Jehoel corrected, for perhaps the twentieth time. "Um." He tried to think of the ways in which he had seen humans talking on telephones. "Can I take a message?"
On the other end of the line Dean Winchester actually laughed. Jehoel didn't think he'd ever caused anyone or anything to laugh before. He wasn't even sure what was funny.
"Jeff, dude," Dean Winchester said, "You're really rocking the PA gig, huh."
For the most part, Jehoel had no clue what Dean meant.
"I... don't know?" he tried, and Dean Winchester laughed even more.
It made Jehoel oddly pleased, because there really wasn't much joy to be had in his world anymore, where once there had only been love. It was a good sound, Jehoel remembered, and listened, hoping that perhaps in the future he could have this again. Perhaps, he thought, this was why Castiel spent what time he could spare talking to this human; to remember what it felt like to have something in their lives other than war and anger and hatred.
Eventually, Dean Winchester's laugh trailed off, and he coughed as though he were clearing his throat. "For an angel, you're not that bad," Dean said, and Jehoel was fairly sure that was a compliment.
"Thank you," he replied. He wondered if was supposed to tell Dean he was not bad either, but Dean was already asking, "Can you get Cas? It's kind of important I talk to him now."
Looking over, Castiel was ordering the uninjured members of the garrison out into the field again. Another rising, more weapons that could kill angels, and humans. Never before since the First War had so many of their kind died. It was a sobering thought.
"He will be finished shortly," Jehoel told Dean Winchester.
"Things as crazy up there as they are down here?" Dean asked. He too sounded serious now. Weary.
Jehoel hesitated before speaking, but he thought that if anyone could help it would be Dean Winchester. "Castiel believes we are losing," he admitted.
Dean asked, "Are you?"
With a surety borne of belief, of faith- and now Jehoel knew the difference between that and wishful thinking- he knew the reality of their position. How it wasn't so much that they were outnumbered but they were far less willing to destroy their brothers than their opposition was intent on killing every last one of them. He knew how hard Castiel fought.
"No," Jehoel replied, without hesitation and without doubt.
***
Hunting angels wasn't like hunting at all.
Their power, their motivations, the fact that the age-old methods of hunters- salt, iron, holy water- had no effect on them.
None of this seemed to deter the Campbells- or what was left of them- from trying.
Dean knew they were getting tips from Crowley; incantations and sigils that Dean guessed must be weapons of Hell rather than the angelic means Cas had shown him because he didn't recognise any of them. Dean didn't understand how any of them could think it was a good idea to go after angels, much less trust Crowley's methods.
It didn't surprise Dean when the Campbells failed to invite him to join their angel-hunting expeditions.
Oh, he knew they tried. He heard about it from Gwen and from Sam, and from Cas, who sometimes called Dean to say he had felt their spells and tricks, and Dean didn't like that the Campbells could even do that much, to be heard by angels.
He forbade Sam from telling any of their so-called family about the Enochian magic Cas had taught them, or about the holy oil they still had in the trunk of the Impala. A lot of the time Dean was tempted to dump it, because he didn't know how far Sam would follow his instructions. He wasn't sure how easily Sam would go behind his back.
Hunting angels- or any kind of hunting for Crowley- was a completely different thing to what they'd done their whole lives. It wasn't about helping people or saving lives anymore. It had become selfish, servitude, something that left Dean feeling vaguely ill because what kind of hunter could take orders from a demon and not kind of want to puke.
As far as Dean could tell, the angels didn't actively set out to kill random humans. They were too preoccupied with their own shit, and from what Dean had seen, they didn't much care about humanity one way or the other. Humans posed no threat to them, had pretty much nothing they wanted. Dean knew that Cas, at least, did what he could to keep people out of his war, even if at times he kind of failed at it.
As much as Dean thought most angels were self-righteous assholes, they weren't out to kill people for the fun of it. Dean got the impression most of them would rather not be on Earth at all.
And Dean was pretty sure that Grandpa Campbell was way out his depth in thinking he could do this without retribution. He was even more convinced this was going to end monumentally badly when Sam told him he'd heard the Campbells were gunning for an archangel.
"We could help," Sam tried, and Dean knew he was thinking of Gabriel and holy oil.
"No," Dean told him, and hoped to fuck it stuck.
He called Cas anyway, and ended up speaking to Cas's minion angel. Dean seemed to be getting through to him more than to Cas these days, and Dean wondered how badly their war was going. Whenever Dean saw Cas he never asked, and Cas never offered any information, but from the tense set of Cas's shoulders and the way he always seemed distracted Dean guessed it wasn't going as well as Cas would've liked.
If Dean knew how to be a better friend, maybe he'd offer Cas some encouragement or sympathy or something, but what could you say to someone at war with his brothers? What kind of words could ever make that less shitty? So he said nothing.
"Raphael is the only remaining archangel," Cas said when Dean finally got him on the line. "It would be unwise to attempt to capture him."
Which was pretty fucking obvious.
"Would it help you out?" Dean asked, thinking he could at least offer this.
Cas was silent for a long pause before he replied, "Raphael might be my enemy, but he is still my brother and I won't let him fall to Hell."
There really wasn't anything Dean could say to that, and Cas realised it too because he began, "Dean-"
"If I find anything else I'll let you know," Dean interrupted and shut the call off. He knew Castiel hadn't meant it as a reference to Sam, but Dean couldn't help but take it that way. Because Dean had let Sam fall to Hell. He'd let Sam do that to himself. So now, the way Sam was- soulless and not-Sam anymore- it was Dean's own damn fault, and Dean meant to set it right. He just had to work out how, without letting anyone else end up in Hell. If there was one thing Dean and Cas could agree on, it was that not even a self-righteous prick like Raphael deserved to end up in Hell. Except maybe where he'd once blown Cas up into little pieces.
Dean didn't have to wait long before he had something else to call Cas about. Of all people, Dean hadn't expected the intel' to come from Sam.
"Crowley showed them a summoning spell, and a way to trap an angel. Said it worked in Hell," Sam told him one hot afternoon somewhere in Kentucky. "They're going to use it."
The Campbells. Maybe havina a talent for getting in over their heads ran in the family.
"This isn't Hell," Dean pointed out.
"No," Sam agreed, shrugging. "Crowley thinks it's close enough."
He would.
"Why'd you tell me?" Dean asked, because last he'd heard Crowley was promising pretty much anything for a piece of angel, and Dean couldn't see how Sam's soulless thought process could've let that go.
Sam shrugged again. "I figure Cas is a better ally than Crowley."
"No kidding," Dean scoffed.
"And you'd kill me if I let Crowley get anywhere close to the angels. Or Castiel."
And Dean did not like the pointed way Sam emphasised Cas's name.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Sam laughed. "You can't seriously not have noticed." Sam shook his head. "You've been all about him since we found him in that motel room."
"I haven't been all about anyone."
"Sure," Sam drawled, disbelieving and sarcastic and what the fuck did Sam know anyway. It wasn't like he even gave a crap.
"Whatever." Dean wasn't getting into this conversation with Sam, or anyone. Because there wasn't a conversation to have. "Just tell me where and when this is gonna happen."
When it came down to it, even if Sam hadn't known, the warehouse would've been impossible to miss.
By the time they arrived, the entire building was crackling with electricity, dancing blue and silver and blinding across the walls and punching through glass like it was paper. Dean parked the Impala a ways off, afraid of damage, wanting the car to start if they needed to beat a hasty retreat.
There was a storm building above them, the clouds thick and grey, blotting out what should have been a clear sunset. The air felt heavy, expectant, like the pause before rain and thunder and lightning and Dean knew this had to be Raphael.
Sam and Dean walked the last few feet to the building, careful of the electricity vaulting and snaking its way out from the warehouse, extending across the uneven ground.
The door they needed to go just had to be made of metal.
Great.
Dean prayed to Cas, "Angels are immune to high voltage, right?" which was apparently enough these days to get Cas to show.
"Yes," Cas said from somewhere close behind Dean, making him jump and swear, "Fucking hell, Cas. How many damn times do I have to tell you not to do that!"
Like pretty much every other time Dean'd said it Cas ignored him, looking with narrowed eyes to the warehouse. "They are attempting to restrain Raphael."
"Yeah." Dean thought he could hear thunder, but couldn't decide if it was coming from a distance or from inside the building.
Night was falling fast now and it was starting to rain, a light, cool shower that promised to be one hell of a lot more.
Behind Castiel stood Jeff, looking scared and worried and kind of ill, and Dean wondered why Cas had brought him at all.
"Crowley's in there," Sam offered, and Castiel turned his intense eyes on his brother, searching his face for a long time before saying, "Thank you, Sam."
Sam nodded, like it was nothing, but it gave Dean hope at least that Sam wasn't as gone as he'd thought.
"We going in?" Dean asked.
Cas looked to the door, the metal of it crackling and buckling like it was over-heated, straining outwards like something was trying to escape. Which, Dean guessed, was the truth.
Cas said, "Yes," and strode towards the door, confident and maybe angry. The rain was really starting to come down now and Dean worried about all that water and all that electricity mixing together.
None of it bothered Cas, who quickly reached the entrance and stretched out his hand, not touching the metal. The door slammed open.
"We're not taking the stealthy approach then, I guess," Dean said dryly, and beside him Sam snorted. He'd taken out his handgun and had the barrel pointed down towards the ground, ready to fight.
"Crowley, and Raphael, will know we're here already." Castiel walked through the open door way, and Jeff followed. "It is safe for you to enter," he assured them.
"And Crowley hasn't sent anyone to stop us?" Sam asked, looking around warily like at any second something was going to jump out and attack them. It wasn't exactly unlikely, so Dean drew his own weapon, prepared to defend himself, and Sam and Cas. And probably Jeff too.
Castiel hesitated, just for a second, but Dean caught the uncertainty. "I don't know."
Despite Cas's assurance, Dean eyed the door frame suspiciously, inching his way into the building and keeping close watch on the lightning bolts that hissed and fizzed all around it, sparking as rain hit them. He'd come this far, thought, and what the hell would be the point of coming if they were just going to hang around outside?
They'd come here to stop their dumbass family from getting involved in something that could only go bad. And Dean was here because he'd said he'd help Cas.
Sam brought up the rear, and Dean had to wonder about how much he could trust Sam to watch his back.
Too late now though. They were inside, and it was darker than the nearly-night sky outside. And cold. One hell of a lot colder than it should've been in Kentucky somewhere at the beginning of summer.
It was eerily quiet too; all Dean could hear was their own footsteps against the concrete ground, and the storm building outside. There was no lightning rushing across the walls here, and barely any light at all. Dean wished he'd brought the damn flashlight.
Ahead of his, Cas slowed down, taking careful measured steps and looking around cautiously.
They'd gone in blind, and that was never a good idea, but who the fuck knew what Crowley planned to do with Raphael, or what Raphael would do if he got out. Dean really hoped Cas, at least, had some idea what he was going to do.
They walked through the large, open space of the entrance into a narrow hallway, following Castiel. None of them spoke, and Dean realised that he couldn't hear the footsteps of either of the angels. Just his and Sam's, and wind now, ratting through smashed windows somewhere close by. It was even darker in the hallway, and Dean raised his gun, squinting his eyes to try and see better. In this light his aim would be for shit.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a long, piercing shriek that made Dean's ears ache. It felt like angel-speak had, from when Cas had tried to talk to him without a body, but a whole lot worse. Dean could feel the anger, the fury in the sound. He could taste it in his mouth and knew it right down to his bones, like it was tearing itself right out of him. Trying to escape, Dean thought, and that was pretty much all he could think of, or knew about, until he felt hands- cold and unrelenting- pressing against his ears.
The screeching stopped abruptly, and Dean was able to open his eyes. There was no sound at all, he realised. Complete silence, like he'd turned stone deaf, and Dean could feel wetness in his ears. Blood, he knew, and Dean wouldn't have been surprised if Raphael and his overachieving fucking voice hadn't ripped Dean's eardrums to shreds. They certainly hurt enough. Cas was right there in front of him though, hands covering Dean's ears, and Dean saw him mouth, "It's okay."
Like hell it was.
Dean's vision was still kind of fuzzy around the edges, and he was bent over in an awkward position, leaning heavily against the wall like he'd been trying to get away from the sound. As though curling in on himself would've helped at all.
He couldn't see Sam.
Standing up straight, Cas's hands followed, keeping his ears covered, and was immovable when Dean tried to pull away, shaking his head. "Raphael," he mouthed, and Dean guessed that maybe he wasn't deaf after all. That Cas was somehow blocking out the sound.
Still, he had to know. "Sam?" he asked, and it was weird because Dean had no idea if he'd said it quiet or loud, or even if he'd made any sound at all. Cas seemed to understand though because he nodded and led Dean carefully further up the hallway, following it round a corner, and there was Sam and Jeff; Jeff looking kind of freaked out but stubborn with his hands clamped over Sam's ears, and Sam looking murderous.
The four of them must've looked ridiculous, but the up-side at least had to be that no demons would be able to attack with the screechy angel soundtrack they had going on. On the not-so-good-side, it was going to be pretty damn difficult to get anywhere with angels attached to their ears.
Dean watched as Castiel gave Jeff what he guessed was an encouraging nod, unconcerned with standing around going nowhere. Sam, having seen Dean and Cas, had stopped looking like he was ready to try and kill Jeff to get him off. Now he just looked frustrated, and for once Dean could sympathise.
Reaching out, Dean squeezed Cas's forearm to get his attention, and said, or tried to say, "We can't hang out here all day."
Dean tried not to notice the way Cas's thumb stroked over his ear, maybe healing the damage. It was weirdly calming, and out of place in a dirty, abandoned warehouse with his brother right there next to him. From the expression on Cas's face- thoughtful, determined, maybe even angry- you'd never guess Cas was doing anything so gentle.
Dean watched as Cas carefully mouthed, "Wait," and looked back to Jeff. Maybe, Dean thought, it hadn't been a bad idea to bring the guy along after all.
They didn't have to wait long before Castiel let his hands fall away from Dean's ears, nodding to Jeff to do the same. The absence left Dean's skin feeling cold, and the sound that rushed back in was almost too loud after the silence.
"We should move quickly," Cas announced, and began moving away.
When Dean put his fingers to his ears there was no blood. As far as he could tell, no damage. Sam rubbed at the side of his face like he was trying to get feeling back into his skin.
If there'd been time, if they hadn't been against the clock here, Dean would've thanked Cas for saving his hearing. As it was, Cas and Jeff were already turning up the next corner and Dean hurried after him, Sam following.
"That was Raphael?" Dean asked when he'd caught up.
"It was. It would have done damage to Crowley, and any humans close by." Cas's face was blank and cold, like maybe he thought they deserved whatever damage Raphael's voice had done to them. It was hard to disagree, family or not. Dean had warned the Campbells not to fuck with the angels.
Cas was looking around curiously, seeing beyond the walls, Dean guessed. "To the demons guarding this place, also."
That was a bonus, and might actually make this hunt-that-wasn't-a-hunt possible. Whatever it was Cas was planning to do.
They turned another corner, Cas keeping the pace fast, and Dean trusted that he knew it was safe to move so quickly. More out of habit than anything, Dean kept his handgun trained on the hallway ahead, picking his way around rotting half-busted up furniture.
Deeper in the warehouse there were more overhead lights that still worked, casting light on peeling walls, puddles that smelled like piss and stagnant water. There were more windows here too, some smashed or cracked, the glass grimy. It was raining like a bitch outside now, a whole lot of it getting in through the broken windows. Dean could hear thunder, loud, followed by lightning that flashed with an unnatural blue hue. It was creepy.
Cas ignored the rain and the smell and the mess and headed straight for a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Dean could tell from the power crackling over them and the weird flashes of colour he could see through the small windows set high in the doors that beyond them was what they'd come for.
"Jehoel," Castiel said, "I leave the Winchesters to you," and Dean would've protested at the implication he needed a freaking baby sitter, but Cas was already through the doors. The scene on the other side was pretty much what he'd expected.
Raphael, standing in the centre of a circle that looked like it'd been painted in thick black tar, his electric wings wide and arched high over his head. The look on his face was fierce. After he'd already been caught by Cas once, Dean thought, Raphael had to be livid about being captured all over again. And this time by a demon.
Crowley.
The bastard was standing not far from the perimeter of the circle. There was blood in his ears, and he looked like he was in pain. He held what looked a lot like one of those angel swords Cas carried. Something that could kill Cas, and the idiot angel was striding right towards him.
Out the corner of his eye Dean could see a handful of humans gathered in a corner, nursing their ears, but Dean couldn't look away from Cas because the bastard hadn't even taken out his own knife. He just bore down on Crowley, like he meant to use his fists to beat the crap out of the demon.
Crowley was almost too late seeing Cas's approach, only able to dodge a blow by lashing out blindly with the angel knife at the last minute so that Castiel had to take a step back to avoid the point.
"Demon," Cas hissed, eyes narrowed, ready for the fight, following cautiously as Crowley backed away.
"Far be if for me to spoil your fun," Crowley smirked in reply, less convincing than his usual smug attitude with red staining the sides of his face right down to the white of his expensive shirt. There was bite in his voice too, real hatred, and anger. "But I think this is my cue to leave."
Castiel recklessly lunged forward, reaching out to grab the demon, but Crowley was too quick. The slick bastard was too well practised at running away and in a heartbeat he was gone, the angel sword the demon had been holding clattering to the concrete floor.
For a long moment Cas stood with his back to them, looking at the space Crowley had occupied.
Around them, Raphael's energy still lashed at the walls and the windows and the pipes.
Raphael was watching Castiel's every move.
"Consorting with demons, Castiel? I would expect no less from you."
Cas said, "Get the humans out of here."
Jeff looked distraught, like this was not a good thing.
"What're you doing, Cas?" Dean demanded.
It was freaking annoying how often Castiel just ignored him.
Instead, Cas turned to Raphael. "We end this."
Drawing out his own sword, Cas made his way to the circle and knelt down at the edge of the dark lines.
"I don't want to fight you, Raphael," he said. "I never did. But if you insist, I will kill you."
And Raphael actually laughed, so loud it echoed around the open room. There was no humour in it.
"Little brother, you are nothing. You cannot kill me."
Dean had seen what Raphael could do when he got his hands on Cas, and yeah, he kind of had to agree with Raphael on this one.
"But I will try anyway."
Dean didn't like the way Cas sounded resigned to this, and Dean remembered what it felt like to just want it all to be over. He remembered what it was like when he would've done anything to make it stop.
Dean should’ve seen it when Castiel said nothing about his war. He should've seen it in the way Jeff looked at Cas, full of concern and fear and sadness. Dean'd just thought it was a cupid thing, and he should've known; this was Castiel at the end of his patience, all out of options, and somehow coming to the conclusion that this was the only way to finish it.
Close by, Sam was gathering up the Campbells, ushering them towards the doors.
"Dean, let's go," Sam called back over his shoulder, but there was no way Dean was going to let it end like this, not after all the crap they'd been through and the ways they'd kept each other alive.
"Get them out of here, Sam," he instructed, and wished- another time out of a thousand- that the Sam he knew, his Sam, was here with him. That Sam would understand. That Sam gave a crap about Cas.
This Sam just nodded, and herded the others out.
A weight landed on Dean's shoulder as Castiel's blade came down against the outer line. The floor sparked and Cas's face was bent down to his work, concentration lining his features, lit up with red and orange and red in a way that reminded Dean of the light of Hell.
"You must leave, also." Jeff stood at his side, and usually Dean would’ve shaken the touch off, but here was one being who might actually agree with him.
"We can't let him do this," Dean argued, trying not to sound too desperate.
"We must," Jeff replied. "We must believe he can do this."
Which was about as comforting as the way Raphael's fingers curled into fists. Dean was never going to understand this angel faith crap, and he was about to go over to Cas and pull the freaking sword out of his hand and stop this when a blinding light, crackling power, filled the room and Dean knew Raphael was free.
Dean felt himself being pulled away, his side hitting a wall hard and hands covering his eyes as a wave of heat swept over him. It fucking hurt even though it lasted only a second, and when it was over Dean was almost surprised to see all his limbs still attached, and no real damage. Jeff was arched over him protectively, and that would have been funny, if now Dean couldn't see Raphael and Cas going at it, their blades clashing loudly, slashing at each other viciously.
This wasn't like any of the angel fights Dean had seen. This was meaner. This was desperate, mad, Raphael on the offensive, their movements almost too fast for Dean to see. Cutting and slicing and tearing at each other and Raphael really meant to hurt Cas.
It would’ve been awesome to watch if Dean believed there was any way Cas could win this. It wasn't that Cas didn't have the skill; from the way he twisted away, met each of Raphael’s attacks with solid defence, kicking him away, drawing blood where he nicked the skin of Raphael's forearm and his leg, Dean knew Cas was strong and fast. He just didn't think Cas had the vitriol that Raphael did. The desire to really maim and kill. Even Dean could tell Cas was holding back, and from the feral, ugly grin on Raphael's face, the bastard knew it too.
"Jesus fuck," Dean swore.
He tried to pull away from Jeff, but even cupids had iron grips apparently because Dean couldn't get more than a couple of inches before Jeff pulled him back.
"We have to stop this," Dean insisted, not quite believing that Jeff wasn't helping him. "That dick is going to kill Cas."
"He won't," Jeff replied, like he had no doubt. Fucking angels and their blind faith, and Dean had no time to convince the stubborn fool to let him go when Raphael was winning, cut by deep, cruel cut.
Where Cas's hits were glancing blows, like warnings, Raphael was going for the freaking jugular every time. The archangel slashed across Cas's stomach and even in the flickering light, Raphael’s electric wings frying circuits and bulbs in a show of sparks, Dean could see the rip in Cas's shirt, the red staining the white cotton.
Cas hissed and staggered back, and sensing the advantage Raphael pressed forward again, aiming at Cas's neck. He'd seen this before, and maybe that was an angel's weak point because there was something almost like panic in Cas's eyes as he reared away from the blade, twisting his entire body to the side. The point cut high into the muscles of his arm instead and Cas actually cried out.
He didn't know what the hell he could even do, but Dean strained against Jeff's grip anyway, needing to do something. No way could he just watch Cas die here. What kind of friend was Jeff to just sit here and do fuck all anyway?
But then Jeff whispered, "He'll be all right," and when Dean turned to glare at the bastard, Jeff nodded his head towards Castiel's legs, and as Dean watched Castiel swept the feet right out from under Raphael. For something that could fly, Raphael went down heavily and Castiel was on him in a second, stabbing his sword down right into Raphael's shoulder, so deep that Dean heard the knife crack and split the concrete as it was driven straight through Raphael's body. Raphael's vessel, older than the others, but no less fierce and terrifying.
Cas kicked away Raphael's sword and it skittered away across to the other side of the room, clanking noisily against concrete and metal.
Raphael howled and for a moment Dean thought he was going to get his ears messed up all over again, but then Castiel clamped his free hand over Raphael's mouth, silencing him.
"Yield," Castiel demanded. Pleaded.
Raphael raised his fist, thumping Cas in the jaw so hard Dean could hear the snap, but Castiel kept his grip on his sword and his balance straddling over Raphael.
"Never." Raphael spat blood, lying on the dirty, damp concrete floor and Dean wondered if he should've been more surprised at how human Raphael looked. "I will not bow to you, and I will not bow to humans."
"I don't ask you to. Just not to seek the end of this world."
"What is there possibly worth saving?" Raphael laughed acidly. There was blood on his lips now, and Dean realised Castiel's sword was killing him. "We were promised paradise, not this cess pit."
"Raphael," Castiel said, and he sounded so damn sad that Dean found himself wanting to kill Raphael himself just to put an end to this. Just so Cas wouldn't have to do it. Because Dean knew, there was no way this was ending any other way. Yet still, Castiel tried, "And we promised we would look after the humans."
From the way Cas was looking down at Raphael, intense, narrowed eyes, and the way Raphael looked back, Dean was pretty sure there was a whole other layer of conversation going on right there. All those times Castiel stared at him, all the times Dean remembered Cas looking right into his eyes, Dean wondered what Castiel had been trying to tell him.
"Brother," Castiel begged, and as much as Dean wanted to he wasn't bastard enough to just shout and tell Cas to kill the fucker. It wasn't like he could ever kill his brother. Not really. Not like this.
Raphael's reply was to lash out again, hissing and trying to pull away, punching Cas again and again and again around the face, and trying to grab the back of his neck, pressing fingers in like he was trying to rip out Cas's spine or something. Cas just took it.
"I won't live in this world, Castiel," Raphael said, angry and frustrated. "I won't live in a world without our Father.
"They aren't-"
"They are." Raphael grabbed at the hand of Cas's that was holding the sword, pushing it deeper into his own body. "So finish this."
The grief on Cas's face was painful to look at, and beside him Dean noticed for the first that Jeff was sobbing, mumbling under his breath in a language Dean couldn't understand but knew were prayers.
In the end, Raphael almost seemed to relax, to let it happen. To not fight it. He looked up at Cas and Cas looked back.
"Close your eyes, Dean," Castiel said, his voice deeper, more hoarse than Dean had ever heard it.
Neither Castiel nor Raphael blinked as Cas drew the sword out of Raphael before plunging the point deep into Raphael's neck.
Light erupted from Raphael's body, iridescent, and thunder roared so loudly it shook the building, the hiss of rain was almost deafening, and through it all electricity crackled all over the room, enveloping Cas, creeping over the ground and around the wreckage of the building. Just as Dean thought they were all going to be fried, he felt the unpleasant, familiar lurch and roll of angel transport.
Then, rain against Dean's face. It was falling so hard it quickly soaked his clothes, seeped into his shoes. It was cold. White spots still danced behind his eyes and, oh yeah, Dean should've done what Cas said, but there was not so much pain so he guessed he still had eyeballs.
When he could see, when his vision finally cleared, Dean saw that he was standing beside the Impala, alone, and in the near-distance the warehouse burned.
***
Revive
There was celebration in Heaven.
They said, "It is a glorious victory." They said, "It is the will of our Father," and a great many of Raphael's followers begged for forgiveness, had seen the error of their ways, and surely Castiel would be merciful, brother.
It made Castiel grit his teeth, and want to call them all lying, spineless hypocrites. For the sake of Heaven he did not.
Those who had followed him deserved this victory. They deserved to feel that they had achieved something, rather than remembering that Heaven was still in chaos, their numbers decimated, and many of their brothers and sisters still gone. In hiding. Seeking their own way. Perhaps biding their time before another came to lead them; to oppose Castiel.
And Castiel remembered Balthazar's warning that it would never be over.
In this moment, when others rejoiced the end of the war, Castiel sat on a park bench on Earth on a muggy summer evening and knew that it had barely even begun.
It should have worried Castiel more that he didn't even notice Dean's approach. He didn't realise Dean was there, standing right in front of Castiel holding out a paper bag until he said, "Man, you look like you need this more than I do."
For as long as Castiel had known him, Dean had never ceased to be able to surprise him.
"How did you know I was here?" Castiel asked, because he had told none of his brothers where he was going, could think of no way for Dean to have found out even if he had.
Castiel just couldn't be in Heaven right now.
Dean grinned. "I have my ways." He pressed the paper bag into Castiel's hands. It was a bottle. Castiel shook his head and moved over so that Dean could join him. He looked sober enough, maybe tired, but relaxed in the way he leaned back against the bench, stretching his legs out.
"A spell?" Castiel guessed, even though it shouldn't have been possible. He had once learned so many ways to hide himself.
"Nope." Dean took the bottle from Castiel , unscrewing the cap and taking a drink. Castiel watched as Dean grimaced at the taste. "Give it up. You'll never guess." Again he passed the bottle to Castiel. "Drink. Make me feel like I'm not an alcoholic."
Castiel wasn't sure if Dean was joking or not, but he supposed it didn't really matter. He took the bottle anyway and drank deeply.
It was a shame, he thought, how little it would do for him now. Whisky. He recognised the flavour, even if he could barely taste it.
Beside him, Dean cried, "Hey, hey, woah! Leave some for me!"
Holding the bottle up, Castiel saw that he had downed half the bottle.
"I was helping you to not be an alcoholic," he told Dean, because it seemed like a good excuse, and Dean laughed.
"Getting the hang of jokes, Cas?" Dean said approvingly, patting Castiel on the shoulder. His hand lingered, and Castiel welcomed the touch.
Shaking his head, Castiel replied. "I didn't mean it as a joke."
Dean sobered, and Castiel was regretful for that. "Yeah. I guess not."
Dean took the bottle back anyway, sipping slowly, looking away at the swings and the slide.
It was a full moon and late into the night, the park coloured in silvers and blues. There was no wind, and very little sound, and for a long time they just sat, Dean drinking occasionally, sometimes handing the bottle to Castiel. And Castiel enjoyed the chance to not think about anything but how he liked this peace. This quiet.
How here he didn't have to be anything other than himself.
He didn't know why he spoke, finally, except perhaps he thought that Dean might actually listen. "Raphael loved humanity, once."
Castiel felt Dean's gaze on him, but he didn't look back. He concentrated on the grass at his feet that looked almost black in the shadowed moonlight. "He fought for you, in the First War. He fought very hard."
"Yeah?" Dean said.
Castiel regretted so much. He didn't know how he could ever deserve to be called first among angels when he couldn't even justify himself in his own mind. When he couldn't decide what was right and wrong anymore. "I wish there had been another way."
"We always do," Dean agreed, and Castiel did look at him then. And there, Castiel saw why he fought, and he saw why he had killed his own kind, and why he would doubtless kill again. He thought, perhaps, it was worth the price.
Dean lifted the bottle. "A toast. To Raphael. He was a dick, but he was an angel, so that wasn't exactly a shocker, but he was your brother, and I guess he wasn't always an asshole." He drank, handed the bottle over to Castiel.
Raphael, Castiel imagined, would have hated this human custom. He raised the bottle as Dean had. "To Raphael, who was a good brother, until he wasn't." Drinking the remaining contents was an easy thing, and Castiel savoured what taste of it he could. And for some reason, the idea of annoying Dean appealed to Castiel.
Predictably, Dean called, "Cas, you asshole," swiping the bottle away and huffing indignantly. "You did that on fucking purpose."
"I did," Castiel admitted, and Dean looked as though he was trying not to smile.
"You could get me another," Dean suggested, shaking the empty bottle in front of Castiel's eyes. "You owe me that much."
"I owe you more, Dean," Castiel replied honestly, because he did, and because Dean had come and found him and given him everything he could. It was enough, Castiel thought, to feel companionship. Since Castiel had rebelled it was the one thing he had missed most keenly about Heaven and how it had been before. How he had been before. The end of this fight with Raphael, Castiel had come to realise, could never mean things going back to how they had once been.
Dean shook his head. "You really don't."
And Castiel wanted to say, "We will find a way to restore Sam," because Castiel knew better than most what it was to lose a brother. He wanted to say, "thank you," for the drink, and for showing him how to think and how to feel, and reminding him that he didn't always have to do things alone.
Sometimes, Castiel wondered if it would've been easier if he'd stayed just Castiel, soldier of his garrison and nothing more. If he'd let Earth fall, and Paradise arise, maybe he wouldn't have been happier that way. But then, he would never have known what it meant to be happy. Not really. And this place, this warm night with its quiet and its smell of grass and old wood and rusting metal would not exist.
Dean would not exist.
Castiel said nothing, because it was nothing Dean wanted to hear and nothing he would believe. Words had never been their way, so instead Castiel leaned forward, touching his fingers to Dean's cheek. He watched as Dean's eyes widened, followed the movements of his hand.
"Cas," Dean began. "You don't know-"
But Castiel did know, and he wanted, and he wanted Dean to see that, so he kissed him, pressing insistently against lips, hoping that Dean would get it.
Dean cared, and Dean trusted- some of the time at least- and Castiel wanted more, and this was what he had learned was more for humans. Something closer, a way to express affection that involved no words. Just actions. Like the way Castiel tasted Dean's mouth, and Dean parted his lips and let him, pushing back with his own lips and tongue, dropping the bottle to the ground so he could spread his hands across Castiel's back and pull him closer.
This was their way, and Castiel would not let Dean go because of all the things in the universe Castiel doubted and feared, he didn't doubt this.
.End.
Comments and concrit much loved and appreciated. I will be replying to comments over at the original fic posting on deancas_xmas shortly!
Rating: R for violence and swearing
Summary: The end of a war.
<< Part 1
2. The Tragedy
Hunting angels wasn't like hunting other supernatural beings.
For one, they were way more powerful than pretty much anything hunters had ever encountered before, and they were sneaky.
Dean should've seen it, in the way Castiel sidestepped rules even though he maintained they were absolute. In the way Zachariah used whatever he could to influence Dean. In the way Michael was so sure of himself, so sure he would win. It should have been a clue, Dean thought, that they were all related to Lucifer.
And that was the other weird thing because when it came down to it Dean was hunting Castiel's brothers and sisters. Sometimes, if he thought about it like that, he felt like an asshole and the shittiest friend in history.
But Crowley asked- no, ordered- and so they obeyed.
"There are fewer and fewer of the feathery freaks on Earth every day," Crowley said. "Your angel boyfriend is sending them all to their rooms to think about what they've done."
The demon bastard wanted an angel for his collection, and helping him felt a lot like betrayal.
The worst thing, though, was Sam.
"We should ask Cas," he suggested, and Dean stared at his brother in- he wasn’t sure what- shock? Horror maybe? Because Dean did not want to think that Sam was so far gone he'd offer up Cas as sacrificial lamb. Then again, he'd offered up his own brother.
It shouldn't have surprised him, but it still did. Every fucking time.
"We are not handing over Cas," Dean told him, and tried to make it sound final. No arguments. End of discussion.
Yeah. Like that would ever work. "Why not?" Sam asked.
"Because we are not handing over our friend to a freaking demon!" That Dean even had to explain it burned.
Sam shook his head. "It won't be like that. We tell Cas what we‘re doing. I know he'd agree if you asked him. Then he could find out what Crowley's really trying to do."
"And how would we help him, if it went wrong?" Dean demanded. "What if there isn't anything more to Crowley's evil master plans than him being a douchebag Hitler wannabe?"
"Cas can take care of himself," Sam insisted.
"Like he did when the other angels ripped him to pieces? Like he did when Lucifer killed him? Or when Raphael killed him?"
It still made Dean mad to think that Cas’s own family could do that to him. Dean remembered the blood and the long, deep cuts, and how all Castiel had was a scared, clueless cherub called Jeff to help him.
Sam gave him a weird look, like Dean was some fascinating new species of insect.
"Yeah. I remember."
Dean didn't like the way Sam spoke, like he'd just worked something out.
"Good. We're not hunting Cas. We're not asking him."
Dean would like to have told Sam they weren't hunting angels at all, because there was no way that could end well, but Crowley threatened and he made promises Dean knew he'd never keep. Like, "Get me a shiny holy angel and I'll give you Sam's soul," and "Don't get me an angel and I'll make sure you never see Sam's soul ever again."
Dean hated the way Sam didn't look all that bothered by the prospect.
Lately, Dean'd gotten the feeling that Sam was starting to think having a soul was more of a burden than it was worth. Dean could get that, because all a soul meant was pain and guilt and doubt, but the thought of his brother like this, permanently stuck in a cycle of hunt-rinse-repeat, never getting to have Sam back to the way he used to be, made Dean sick.
It occurred to Dean that he'd better warn Cas, in case Sam went behind his back and trapped Cas to hand him over anyway. That really fucking hurt. Cas trusted them both with the tools to hunt and to hurt his own kind, and using them to track and capture other angels was not something Dean was comfortable with. Sam would call him sentimental, or some shit, but then Sam wasn't Sam anymore.
When Sam was out doing not-Sam things, Dean called Cas.
***
"You answered."
It was late, but Dean didn't expect Sam to be back that night. From what he knew of angels he guessed it didn’t make much difference what time of day it was. If it was dark or light. Except Cas's little minion guy, apparently, hadn't liked the nighttime. When they'd dragged Cas out to the car that first time they'd met, with Cas clenching his teeth in pain, Jeff had not liked the absence of the sun at all, shying away from the light of the moon like it physically hurt him. It was weird. Dean would've pegged cupids for night lovers- being the time for romance- or something. But who the hell knew? Angels were freaky and made no sense most of the time.
Cas replied, "I answered. What is it you need?"
Dean had to wonder is the new, more helpful Castiel was his way of saying thanks for saving his ass. It hadn't been long since Dean had walked in on him half-dead, and the last time Dean had seen Cas he'd still been noticeably slower in the way he moved, tiredness showing in his eyes. His little minion had come too, hovering nervously at Cas's side. He wasn't there now.
"You lose your fanboy?"
They'd based themselves at a slightly more upscale motel than usual, and it came with a refrigerator full of beer. Dean moved to pull two bottles out, handing one out to Castiel.
It was, Dean had to admit, an invitation, and Cas took it, moving right up into Dean's space.
"He is not my fanboy," Cas said, twisting the bottle cap off with his right hand without even looking down. Holding Dean's gaze again. Dean wondered what Cas would do if, just once, Dean didn't stare right back.
"Looked like it to me." Dean tipped his own beer towards Cas, and was stupidly pleased when Cas actually got the message and pulled the cap off his bottle too.
It bothered him, that some helpless cherub could go places with Cas he couldn't. That he was all Cas had to watch his back when Dean wasn't there.
"Does he even know how to fight?"
"All angels know how to fight."
Right. Angels were soldiers. He'd heard it before, even if Dean couldn't quite believe it when he remembered the naked, hugging angel. Or Gabriel.
"But," Castiel said, still not moving away, the bottle of beer held awkwardly in his hand. Dean wondered if he meant to drink it. "You didn't call me here to talk about Jehoel."
Dean nodded, taking a step back and turning away, because he was pretty sure that Cas wasn't going to like what he had to say. Dean didn't like what he had to say. Taking a long pull from the drink he wondered how Cas would take it. It wasn't like they'd actually agreed to anything.
"Dean," Cas urged, his eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"Crowley's looking for angels," Dean said.
It was, Dean had often found, a whole lot easier just to get it all out in one try than to sugarcoat anything. And what the hell was he so worried about anyway? He hadn't done anything. It was just, he kind of knew how he'd feel if someone told him they were hunting his family. Maybe.
"He's got the Campbell's in on it." Dean paused and took another pull on his drink, because this sucked to admit. "Sam thought we should ask you to give yourself up to Crowley. Find out what he's really up to."
For a long while Cas didn't say anything, and his expression remained blank, and it made Dean really freaking nervous.
"I told him no."
"It's a sound strategy," Cas remarked.
Dean didn't even think before he was telling Cas, "Hell no." He pointed at Castiel, like it might make him more convincing. "There is no way you are giving yourself up to Crowley. I don't give a crap how strategically brilliant the idea is."
Cas raised his eyebrows, and Dean didn't have a clue what that was supposed to mean. "I wasn't suggesting it, Dean," Cas assured him. "I was just commenting that Sam's thinking is logical. I understand why he came to this conclusion."
Yeah, and now Dean looked like a psycho or something. He didn't even know what he'd been thinking.
Maybe that was the point; that he hadn't been thinking.
He'd been reacting to the thought of Cas being in Crowley's nasty demon hands. Torturing him. Dean had already seen enough of Cas's blood in the last few weeks, and Dean wasn't going to be embarrassed because he didn't want to see his friend get ripped to shreds when they'd just put him back together.
"Right. Good," Dean said.
They stood in the motel room, Dean drinking from his beer and Cas not drinking from his, not looking at each other anymore, and Dean wondered when the fuck things had gotten weird between them.
Maybe it was when Cas had died and been brought back as angelic overlord. Maybe it was when Cas was a dick who didn't answer Dean's calls. Sam's calls.
Or maybe it was when Dean had walked into a dingy motel room in Illinois to find Cas lying in a red mess of his own blood as it seeped into the carpet. What the hell did he know.
"You think... the Campbells will try to hunt angels," Cas said after a long silence, and Dean appreciated the offered change of conversation. It was sometimes kind of cool, Dean thought, that they were both so useless at emotional crap. At talking about shit.
Dean knew that one day something was going to have to change. Maybe it already had, when Dean had hung out while Cas was knitting himself back together, making sure no one could get near enough to hurt him.
It wasn't hard to understand, Dean told himself. He'd never really had many people he cared about, so whenever he did find someone he maybe liked sometimes he hung onto them. Cas might've been an asshole angel, but he was an asshole angel who'd died for him, and fought with him, and stayed with him, and with Sam, and if there was anything in the world that meant something to Dean it was that.
Dean wasn't about to let anyone get to Cas again, if he could help it.
That would just be a waste of all his hard work keeping the bastard alive.
"They will, yeah," Dean agreed. "I don't know who, but I'll let you know if I hear anything."
Fuck, this sucked. "I should be able to keep Sam out of it," he added, and really hoped he could because Dean didn't know what he'd do if Sam betrayed him like this. Betrayed Cas. "He's kind of unpredictable."
"If it suits his purpose then he will be involved," Cas said sensibly. He didn't even seem that bothered. Except, then, he looked consideringly down at where he was holding the beer bottle, the condensed water dripping down onto his hand. "Though I would prefer if he didn't."
Cas had been Sam's friend too, Dean guessed. The same way that Dean had been Sam's brother. It was hard to tell if that meant anything any more.
Dean nodded his head towards Castiel's hand. "Drink your beer."
Cas did.
***
Jehoel had noticed, in the short time he had known Dean Winchester, how much the human called to Castiel.
Sometimes, if Jehoel was close enough, he could hear the echoes of Dean's prayers, and they were everything from pleading to irritated to teasing. It was, to Jehoel, disrespectful and inappropriate, except that Castiel didn't seem to mind. In the same way, he would not let other angels bow to him, or try to curry his favour. Castiel all but rejected the old ways of hierarchy and submissiveness. He encouraged others to speak their minds, and to criticise him. It was a dangerous thing to do, for there were still many angels who were more powerful than Castiel, and there were still angels who had once caused him very great pain- who had tortured him- but still Castiel listened. He didn't ignore them.
He did not ignore Dean Winchester either.
Castiel might not always reply, or be able to go to Earth to assist him, but he would always listen. It was something Jehoel had never seen before- this strange companionship between man and angel.
Jehoel thought it was something their Father would have approved of, even if some of the other angels did not.
Perhaps they were just jealous.
In any case, Dean Winchester prayed, and he called Castiel on his infernal cell phone, which, if Jehoel slept, he was sure he would have nightmares about.
Once, Castiel- busy with a ragged, exhausted group of angels recently back from fighting Raphael's followers- asked Jehoel to answer the cursed thing as it rang and rang, even when it shouldn't have been able to even exist within Heaven.
There was very little Jehoel could refuse Castiel, however.
"Cas," he heard as soon as he picked up. Dean sounded serious and harried. "You took freaking long enough to answer."
"Castiel is busy, Dean Winchester," Jehoel told him, carefully wrapping his voice in human vocal chords.
"Fuck," Dean swore. "Jeff, that you?"
It was a name Dean Winchester insisted on calling him since they had first met, and Jehoel couldn't decide if it was meant as an insult or not.
"Jehoel," Jehoel corrected, for perhaps the twentieth time. "Um." He tried to think of the ways in which he had seen humans talking on telephones. "Can I take a message?"
On the other end of the line Dean Winchester actually laughed. Jehoel didn't think he'd ever caused anyone or anything to laugh before. He wasn't even sure what was funny.
"Jeff, dude," Dean Winchester said, "You're really rocking the PA gig, huh."
For the most part, Jehoel had no clue what Dean meant.
"I... don't know?" he tried, and Dean Winchester laughed even more.
It made Jehoel oddly pleased, because there really wasn't much joy to be had in his world anymore, where once there had only been love. It was a good sound, Jehoel remembered, and listened, hoping that perhaps in the future he could have this again. Perhaps, he thought, this was why Castiel spent what time he could spare talking to this human; to remember what it felt like to have something in their lives other than war and anger and hatred.
Eventually, Dean Winchester's laugh trailed off, and he coughed as though he were clearing his throat. "For an angel, you're not that bad," Dean said, and Jehoel was fairly sure that was a compliment.
"Thank you," he replied. He wondered if was supposed to tell Dean he was not bad either, but Dean was already asking, "Can you get Cas? It's kind of important I talk to him now."
Looking over, Castiel was ordering the uninjured members of the garrison out into the field again. Another rising, more weapons that could kill angels, and humans. Never before since the First War had so many of their kind died. It was a sobering thought.
"He will be finished shortly," Jehoel told Dean Winchester.
"Things as crazy up there as they are down here?" Dean asked. He too sounded serious now. Weary.
Jehoel hesitated before speaking, but he thought that if anyone could help it would be Dean Winchester. "Castiel believes we are losing," he admitted.
Dean asked, "Are you?"
With a surety borne of belief, of faith- and now Jehoel knew the difference between that and wishful thinking- he knew the reality of their position. How it wasn't so much that they were outnumbered but they were far less willing to destroy their brothers than their opposition was intent on killing every last one of them. He knew how hard Castiel fought.
"No," Jehoel replied, without hesitation and without doubt.
***
Hunting angels wasn't like hunting at all.
Their power, their motivations, the fact that the age-old methods of hunters- salt, iron, holy water- had no effect on them.
None of this seemed to deter the Campbells- or what was left of them- from trying.
Dean knew they were getting tips from Crowley; incantations and sigils that Dean guessed must be weapons of Hell rather than the angelic means Cas had shown him because he didn't recognise any of them. Dean didn't understand how any of them could think it was a good idea to go after angels, much less trust Crowley's methods.
It didn't surprise Dean when the Campbells failed to invite him to join their angel-hunting expeditions.
Oh, he knew they tried. He heard about it from Gwen and from Sam, and from Cas, who sometimes called Dean to say he had felt their spells and tricks, and Dean didn't like that the Campbells could even do that much, to be heard by angels.
He forbade Sam from telling any of their so-called family about the Enochian magic Cas had taught them, or about the holy oil they still had in the trunk of the Impala. A lot of the time Dean was tempted to dump it, because he didn't know how far Sam would follow his instructions. He wasn't sure how easily Sam would go behind his back.
Hunting angels- or any kind of hunting for Crowley- was a completely different thing to what they'd done their whole lives. It wasn't about helping people or saving lives anymore. It had become selfish, servitude, something that left Dean feeling vaguely ill because what kind of hunter could take orders from a demon and not kind of want to puke.
As far as Dean could tell, the angels didn't actively set out to kill random humans. They were too preoccupied with their own shit, and from what Dean had seen, they didn't much care about humanity one way or the other. Humans posed no threat to them, had pretty much nothing they wanted. Dean knew that Cas, at least, did what he could to keep people out of his war, even if at times he kind of failed at it.
As much as Dean thought most angels were self-righteous assholes, they weren't out to kill people for the fun of it. Dean got the impression most of them would rather not be on Earth at all.
And Dean was pretty sure that Grandpa Campbell was way out his depth in thinking he could do this without retribution. He was even more convinced this was going to end monumentally badly when Sam told him he'd heard the Campbells were gunning for an archangel.
"We could help," Sam tried, and Dean knew he was thinking of Gabriel and holy oil.
"No," Dean told him, and hoped to fuck it stuck.
He called Cas anyway, and ended up speaking to Cas's minion angel. Dean seemed to be getting through to him more than to Cas these days, and Dean wondered how badly their war was going. Whenever Dean saw Cas he never asked, and Cas never offered any information, but from the tense set of Cas's shoulders and the way he always seemed distracted Dean guessed it wasn't going as well as Cas would've liked.
If Dean knew how to be a better friend, maybe he'd offer Cas some encouragement or sympathy or something, but what could you say to someone at war with his brothers? What kind of words could ever make that less shitty? So he said nothing.
"Raphael is the only remaining archangel," Cas said when Dean finally got him on the line. "It would be unwise to attempt to capture him."
Which was pretty fucking obvious.
"Would it help you out?" Dean asked, thinking he could at least offer this.
Cas was silent for a long pause before he replied, "Raphael might be my enemy, but he is still my brother and I won't let him fall to Hell."
There really wasn't anything Dean could say to that, and Cas realised it too because he began, "Dean-"
"If I find anything else I'll let you know," Dean interrupted and shut the call off. He knew Castiel hadn't meant it as a reference to Sam, but Dean couldn't help but take it that way. Because Dean had let Sam fall to Hell. He'd let Sam do that to himself. So now, the way Sam was- soulless and not-Sam anymore- it was Dean's own damn fault, and Dean meant to set it right. He just had to work out how, without letting anyone else end up in Hell. If there was one thing Dean and Cas could agree on, it was that not even a self-righteous prick like Raphael deserved to end up in Hell. Except maybe where he'd once blown Cas up into little pieces.
Dean didn't have to wait long before he had something else to call Cas about. Of all people, Dean hadn't expected the intel' to come from Sam.
"Crowley showed them a summoning spell, and a way to trap an angel. Said it worked in Hell," Sam told him one hot afternoon somewhere in Kentucky. "They're going to use it."
The Campbells. Maybe havina a talent for getting in over their heads ran in the family.
"This isn't Hell," Dean pointed out.
"No," Sam agreed, shrugging. "Crowley thinks it's close enough."
He would.
"Why'd you tell me?" Dean asked, because last he'd heard Crowley was promising pretty much anything for a piece of angel, and Dean couldn't see how Sam's soulless thought process could've let that go.
Sam shrugged again. "I figure Cas is a better ally than Crowley."
"No kidding," Dean scoffed.
"And you'd kill me if I let Crowley get anywhere close to the angels. Or Castiel."
And Dean did not like the pointed way Sam emphasised Cas's name.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Sam laughed. "You can't seriously not have noticed." Sam shook his head. "You've been all about him since we found him in that motel room."
"I haven't been all about anyone."
"Sure," Sam drawled, disbelieving and sarcastic and what the fuck did Sam know anyway. It wasn't like he even gave a crap.
"Whatever." Dean wasn't getting into this conversation with Sam, or anyone. Because there wasn't a conversation to have. "Just tell me where and when this is gonna happen."
When it came down to it, even if Sam hadn't known, the warehouse would've been impossible to miss.
By the time they arrived, the entire building was crackling with electricity, dancing blue and silver and blinding across the walls and punching through glass like it was paper. Dean parked the Impala a ways off, afraid of damage, wanting the car to start if they needed to beat a hasty retreat.
There was a storm building above them, the clouds thick and grey, blotting out what should have been a clear sunset. The air felt heavy, expectant, like the pause before rain and thunder and lightning and Dean knew this had to be Raphael.
Sam and Dean walked the last few feet to the building, careful of the electricity vaulting and snaking its way out from the warehouse, extending across the uneven ground.
The door they needed to go just had to be made of metal.
Great.
Dean prayed to Cas, "Angels are immune to high voltage, right?" which was apparently enough these days to get Cas to show.
"Yes," Cas said from somewhere close behind Dean, making him jump and swear, "Fucking hell, Cas. How many damn times do I have to tell you not to do that!"
Like pretty much every other time Dean'd said it Cas ignored him, looking with narrowed eyes to the warehouse. "They are attempting to restrain Raphael."
"Yeah." Dean thought he could hear thunder, but couldn't decide if it was coming from a distance or from inside the building.
Night was falling fast now and it was starting to rain, a light, cool shower that promised to be one hell of a lot more.
Behind Castiel stood Jeff, looking scared and worried and kind of ill, and Dean wondered why Cas had brought him at all.
"Crowley's in there," Sam offered, and Castiel turned his intense eyes on his brother, searching his face for a long time before saying, "Thank you, Sam."
Sam nodded, like it was nothing, but it gave Dean hope at least that Sam wasn't as gone as he'd thought.
"We going in?" Dean asked.
Cas looked to the door, the metal of it crackling and buckling like it was over-heated, straining outwards like something was trying to escape. Which, Dean guessed, was the truth.
Cas said, "Yes," and strode towards the door, confident and maybe angry. The rain was really starting to come down now and Dean worried about all that water and all that electricity mixing together.
None of it bothered Cas, who quickly reached the entrance and stretched out his hand, not touching the metal. The door slammed open.
"We're not taking the stealthy approach then, I guess," Dean said dryly, and beside him Sam snorted. He'd taken out his handgun and had the barrel pointed down towards the ground, ready to fight.
"Crowley, and Raphael, will know we're here already." Castiel walked through the open door way, and Jeff followed. "It is safe for you to enter," he assured them.
"And Crowley hasn't sent anyone to stop us?" Sam asked, looking around warily like at any second something was going to jump out and attack them. It wasn't exactly unlikely, so Dean drew his own weapon, prepared to defend himself, and Sam and Cas. And probably Jeff too.
Castiel hesitated, just for a second, but Dean caught the uncertainty. "I don't know."
Despite Cas's assurance, Dean eyed the door frame suspiciously, inching his way into the building and keeping close watch on the lightning bolts that hissed and fizzed all around it, sparking as rain hit them. He'd come this far, thought, and what the hell would be the point of coming if they were just going to hang around outside?
They'd come here to stop their dumbass family from getting involved in something that could only go bad. And Dean was here because he'd said he'd help Cas.
Sam brought up the rear, and Dean had to wonder about how much he could trust Sam to watch his back.
Too late now though. They were inside, and it was darker than the nearly-night sky outside. And cold. One hell of a lot colder than it should've been in Kentucky somewhere at the beginning of summer.
It was eerily quiet too; all Dean could hear was their own footsteps against the concrete ground, and the storm building outside. There was no lightning rushing across the walls here, and barely any light at all. Dean wished he'd brought the damn flashlight.
Ahead of his, Cas slowed down, taking careful measured steps and looking around cautiously.
They'd gone in blind, and that was never a good idea, but who the fuck knew what Crowley planned to do with Raphael, or what Raphael would do if he got out. Dean really hoped Cas, at least, had some idea what he was going to do.
They walked through the large, open space of the entrance into a narrow hallway, following Castiel. None of them spoke, and Dean realised that he couldn't hear the footsteps of either of the angels. Just his and Sam's, and wind now, ratting through smashed windows somewhere close by. It was even darker in the hallway, and Dean raised his gun, squinting his eyes to try and see better. In this light his aim would be for shit.
Suddenly, the silence was broken by a long, piercing shriek that made Dean's ears ache. It felt like angel-speak had, from when Cas had tried to talk to him without a body, but a whole lot worse. Dean could feel the anger, the fury in the sound. He could taste it in his mouth and knew it right down to his bones, like it was tearing itself right out of him. Trying to escape, Dean thought, and that was pretty much all he could think of, or knew about, until he felt hands- cold and unrelenting- pressing against his ears.
The screeching stopped abruptly, and Dean was able to open his eyes. There was no sound at all, he realised. Complete silence, like he'd turned stone deaf, and Dean could feel wetness in his ears. Blood, he knew, and Dean wouldn't have been surprised if Raphael and his overachieving fucking voice hadn't ripped Dean's eardrums to shreds. They certainly hurt enough. Cas was right there in front of him though, hands covering Dean's ears, and Dean saw him mouth, "It's okay."
Like hell it was.
Dean's vision was still kind of fuzzy around the edges, and he was bent over in an awkward position, leaning heavily against the wall like he'd been trying to get away from the sound. As though curling in on himself would've helped at all.
He couldn't see Sam.
Standing up straight, Cas's hands followed, keeping his ears covered, and was immovable when Dean tried to pull away, shaking his head. "Raphael," he mouthed, and Dean guessed that maybe he wasn't deaf after all. That Cas was somehow blocking out the sound.
Still, he had to know. "Sam?" he asked, and it was weird because Dean had no idea if he'd said it quiet or loud, or even if he'd made any sound at all. Cas seemed to understand though because he nodded and led Dean carefully further up the hallway, following it round a corner, and there was Sam and Jeff; Jeff looking kind of freaked out but stubborn with his hands clamped over Sam's ears, and Sam looking murderous.
The four of them must've looked ridiculous, but the up-side at least had to be that no demons would be able to attack with the screechy angel soundtrack they had going on. On the not-so-good-side, it was going to be pretty damn difficult to get anywhere with angels attached to their ears.
Dean watched as Castiel gave Jeff what he guessed was an encouraging nod, unconcerned with standing around going nowhere. Sam, having seen Dean and Cas, had stopped looking like he was ready to try and kill Jeff to get him off. Now he just looked frustrated, and for once Dean could sympathise.
Reaching out, Dean squeezed Cas's forearm to get his attention, and said, or tried to say, "We can't hang out here all day."
Dean tried not to notice the way Cas's thumb stroked over his ear, maybe healing the damage. It was weirdly calming, and out of place in a dirty, abandoned warehouse with his brother right there next to him. From the expression on Cas's face- thoughtful, determined, maybe even angry- you'd never guess Cas was doing anything so gentle.
Dean watched as Cas carefully mouthed, "Wait," and looked back to Jeff. Maybe, Dean thought, it hadn't been a bad idea to bring the guy along after all.
They didn't have to wait long before Castiel let his hands fall away from Dean's ears, nodding to Jeff to do the same. The absence left Dean's skin feeling cold, and the sound that rushed back in was almost too loud after the silence.
"We should move quickly," Cas announced, and began moving away.
When Dean put his fingers to his ears there was no blood. As far as he could tell, no damage. Sam rubbed at the side of his face like he was trying to get feeling back into his skin.
If there'd been time, if they hadn't been against the clock here, Dean would've thanked Cas for saving his hearing. As it was, Cas and Jeff were already turning up the next corner and Dean hurried after him, Sam following.
"That was Raphael?" Dean asked when he'd caught up.
"It was. It would have done damage to Crowley, and any humans close by." Cas's face was blank and cold, like maybe he thought they deserved whatever damage Raphael's voice had done to them. It was hard to disagree, family or not. Dean had warned the Campbells not to fuck with the angels.
Cas was looking around curiously, seeing beyond the walls, Dean guessed. "To the demons guarding this place, also."
That was a bonus, and might actually make this hunt-that-wasn't-a-hunt possible. Whatever it was Cas was planning to do.
They turned another corner, Cas keeping the pace fast, and Dean trusted that he knew it was safe to move so quickly. More out of habit than anything, Dean kept his handgun trained on the hallway ahead, picking his way around rotting half-busted up furniture.
Deeper in the warehouse there were more overhead lights that still worked, casting light on peeling walls, puddles that smelled like piss and stagnant water. There were more windows here too, some smashed or cracked, the glass grimy. It was raining like a bitch outside now, a whole lot of it getting in through the broken windows. Dean could hear thunder, loud, followed by lightning that flashed with an unnatural blue hue. It was creepy.
Cas ignored the rain and the smell and the mess and headed straight for a set of double doors at the end of the hallway. Dean could tell from the power crackling over them and the weird flashes of colour he could see through the small windows set high in the doors that beyond them was what they'd come for.
"Jehoel," Castiel said, "I leave the Winchesters to you," and Dean would've protested at the implication he needed a freaking baby sitter, but Cas was already through the doors. The scene on the other side was pretty much what he'd expected.
Raphael, standing in the centre of a circle that looked like it'd been painted in thick black tar, his electric wings wide and arched high over his head. The look on his face was fierce. After he'd already been caught by Cas once, Dean thought, Raphael had to be livid about being captured all over again. And this time by a demon.
Crowley.
The bastard was standing not far from the perimeter of the circle. There was blood in his ears, and he looked like he was in pain. He held what looked a lot like one of those angel swords Cas carried. Something that could kill Cas, and the idiot angel was striding right towards him.
Out the corner of his eye Dean could see a handful of humans gathered in a corner, nursing their ears, but Dean couldn't look away from Cas because the bastard hadn't even taken out his own knife. He just bore down on Crowley, like he meant to use his fists to beat the crap out of the demon.
Crowley was almost too late seeing Cas's approach, only able to dodge a blow by lashing out blindly with the angel knife at the last minute so that Castiel had to take a step back to avoid the point.
"Demon," Cas hissed, eyes narrowed, ready for the fight, following cautiously as Crowley backed away.
"Far be if for me to spoil your fun," Crowley smirked in reply, less convincing than his usual smug attitude with red staining the sides of his face right down to the white of his expensive shirt. There was bite in his voice too, real hatred, and anger. "But I think this is my cue to leave."
Castiel recklessly lunged forward, reaching out to grab the demon, but Crowley was too quick. The slick bastard was too well practised at running away and in a heartbeat he was gone, the angel sword the demon had been holding clattering to the concrete floor.
For a long moment Cas stood with his back to them, looking at the space Crowley had occupied.
Around them, Raphael's energy still lashed at the walls and the windows and the pipes.
Raphael was watching Castiel's every move.
"Consorting with demons, Castiel? I would expect no less from you."
Cas said, "Get the humans out of here."
Jeff looked distraught, like this was not a good thing.
"What're you doing, Cas?" Dean demanded.
It was freaking annoying how often Castiel just ignored him.
Instead, Cas turned to Raphael. "We end this."
Drawing out his own sword, Cas made his way to the circle and knelt down at the edge of the dark lines.
"I don't want to fight you, Raphael," he said. "I never did. But if you insist, I will kill you."
And Raphael actually laughed, so loud it echoed around the open room. There was no humour in it.
"Little brother, you are nothing. You cannot kill me."
Dean had seen what Raphael could do when he got his hands on Cas, and yeah, he kind of had to agree with Raphael on this one.
"But I will try anyway."
Dean didn't like the way Cas sounded resigned to this, and Dean remembered what it felt like to just want it all to be over. He remembered what it was like when he would've done anything to make it stop.
Dean should’ve seen it when Castiel said nothing about his war. He should've seen it in the way Jeff looked at Cas, full of concern and fear and sadness. Dean'd just thought it was a cupid thing, and he should've known; this was Castiel at the end of his patience, all out of options, and somehow coming to the conclusion that this was the only way to finish it.
Close by, Sam was gathering up the Campbells, ushering them towards the doors.
"Dean, let's go," Sam called back over his shoulder, but there was no way Dean was going to let it end like this, not after all the crap they'd been through and the ways they'd kept each other alive.
"Get them out of here, Sam," he instructed, and wished- another time out of a thousand- that the Sam he knew, his Sam, was here with him. That Sam would understand. That Sam gave a crap about Cas.
This Sam just nodded, and herded the others out.
A weight landed on Dean's shoulder as Castiel's blade came down against the outer line. The floor sparked and Cas's face was bent down to his work, concentration lining his features, lit up with red and orange and red in a way that reminded Dean of the light of Hell.
"You must leave, also." Jeff stood at his side, and usually Dean would’ve shaken the touch off, but here was one being who might actually agree with him.
"We can't let him do this," Dean argued, trying not to sound too desperate.
"We must," Jeff replied. "We must believe he can do this."
Which was about as comforting as the way Raphael's fingers curled into fists. Dean was never going to understand this angel faith crap, and he was about to go over to Cas and pull the freaking sword out of his hand and stop this when a blinding light, crackling power, filled the room and Dean knew Raphael was free.
Dean felt himself being pulled away, his side hitting a wall hard and hands covering his eyes as a wave of heat swept over him. It fucking hurt even though it lasted only a second, and when it was over Dean was almost surprised to see all his limbs still attached, and no real damage. Jeff was arched over him protectively, and that would have been funny, if now Dean couldn't see Raphael and Cas going at it, their blades clashing loudly, slashing at each other viciously.
This wasn't like any of the angel fights Dean had seen. This was meaner. This was desperate, mad, Raphael on the offensive, their movements almost too fast for Dean to see. Cutting and slicing and tearing at each other and Raphael really meant to hurt Cas.
It would’ve been awesome to watch if Dean believed there was any way Cas could win this. It wasn't that Cas didn't have the skill; from the way he twisted away, met each of Raphael’s attacks with solid defence, kicking him away, drawing blood where he nicked the skin of Raphael's forearm and his leg, Dean knew Cas was strong and fast. He just didn't think Cas had the vitriol that Raphael did. The desire to really maim and kill. Even Dean could tell Cas was holding back, and from the feral, ugly grin on Raphael's face, the bastard knew it too.
"Jesus fuck," Dean swore.
He tried to pull away from Jeff, but even cupids had iron grips apparently because Dean couldn't get more than a couple of inches before Jeff pulled him back.
"We have to stop this," Dean insisted, not quite believing that Jeff wasn't helping him. "That dick is going to kill Cas."
"He won't," Jeff replied, like he had no doubt. Fucking angels and their blind faith, and Dean had no time to convince the stubborn fool to let him go when Raphael was winning, cut by deep, cruel cut.
Where Cas's hits were glancing blows, like warnings, Raphael was going for the freaking jugular every time. The archangel slashed across Cas's stomach and even in the flickering light, Raphael’s electric wings frying circuits and bulbs in a show of sparks, Dean could see the rip in Cas's shirt, the red staining the white cotton.
Cas hissed and staggered back, and sensing the advantage Raphael pressed forward again, aiming at Cas's neck. He'd seen this before, and maybe that was an angel's weak point because there was something almost like panic in Cas's eyes as he reared away from the blade, twisting his entire body to the side. The point cut high into the muscles of his arm instead and Cas actually cried out.
He didn't know what the hell he could even do, but Dean strained against Jeff's grip anyway, needing to do something. No way could he just watch Cas die here. What kind of friend was Jeff to just sit here and do fuck all anyway?
But then Jeff whispered, "He'll be all right," and when Dean turned to glare at the bastard, Jeff nodded his head towards Castiel's legs, and as Dean watched Castiel swept the feet right out from under Raphael. For something that could fly, Raphael went down heavily and Castiel was on him in a second, stabbing his sword down right into Raphael's shoulder, so deep that Dean heard the knife crack and split the concrete as it was driven straight through Raphael's body. Raphael's vessel, older than the others, but no less fierce and terrifying.
Cas kicked away Raphael's sword and it skittered away across to the other side of the room, clanking noisily against concrete and metal.
Raphael howled and for a moment Dean thought he was going to get his ears messed up all over again, but then Castiel clamped his free hand over Raphael's mouth, silencing him.
"Yield," Castiel demanded. Pleaded.
Raphael raised his fist, thumping Cas in the jaw so hard Dean could hear the snap, but Castiel kept his grip on his sword and his balance straddling over Raphael.
"Never." Raphael spat blood, lying on the dirty, damp concrete floor and Dean wondered if he should've been more surprised at how human Raphael looked. "I will not bow to you, and I will not bow to humans."
"I don't ask you to. Just not to seek the end of this world."
"What is there possibly worth saving?" Raphael laughed acidly. There was blood on his lips now, and Dean realised Castiel's sword was killing him. "We were promised paradise, not this cess pit."
"Raphael," Castiel said, and he sounded so damn sad that Dean found himself wanting to kill Raphael himself just to put an end to this. Just so Cas wouldn't have to do it. Because Dean knew, there was no way this was ending any other way. Yet still, Castiel tried, "And we promised we would look after the humans."
From the way Cas was looking down at Raphael, intense, narrowed eyes, and the way Raphael looked back, Dean was pretty sure there was a whole other layer of conversation going on right there. All those times Castiel stared at him, all the times Dean remembered Cas looking right into his eyes, Dean wondered what Castiel had been trying to tell him.
"Brother," Castiel begged, and as much as Dean wanted to he wasn't bastard enough to just shout and tell Cas to kill the fucker. It wasn't like he could ever kill his brother. Not really. Not like this.
Raphael's reply was to lash out again, hissing and trying to pull away, punching Cas again and again and again around the face, and trying to grab the back of his neck, pressing fingers in like he was trying to rip out Cas's spine or something. Cas just took it.
"I won't live in this world, Castiel," Raphael said, angry and frustrated. "I won't live in a world without our Father.
"They aren't-"
"They are." Raphael grabbed at the hand of Cas's that was holding the sword, pushing it deeper into his own body. "So finish this."
The grief on Cas's face was painful to look at, and beside him Dean noticed for the first that Jeff was sobbing, mumbling under his breath in a language Dean couldn't understand but knew were prayers.
In the end, Raphael almost seemed to relax, to let it happen. To not fight it. He looked up at Cas and Cas looked back.
"Close your eyes, Dean," Castiel said, his voice deeper, more hoarse than Dean had ever heard it.
Neither Castiel nor Raphael blinked as Cas drew the sword out of Raphael before plunging the point deep into Raphael's neck.
Light erupted from Raphael's body, iridescent, and thunder roared so loudly it shook the building, the hiss of rain was almost deafening, and through it all electricity crackled all over the room, enveloping Cas, creeping over the ground and around the wreckage of the building. Just as Dean thought they were all going to be fried, he felt the unpleasant, familiar lurch and roll of angel transport.
Then, rain against Dean's face. It was falling so hard it quickly soaked his clothes, seeped into his shoes. It was cold. White spots still danced behind his eyes and, oh yeah, Dean should've done what Cas said, but there was not so much pain so he guessed he still had eyeballs.
When he could see, when his vision finally cleared, Dean saw that he was standing beside the Impala, alone, and in the near-distance the warehouse burned.
***
Revive
There was celebration in Heaven.
They said, "It is a glorious victory." They said, "It is the will of our Father," and a great many of Raphael's followers begged for forgiveness, had seen the error of their ways, and surely Castiel would be merciful, brother.
It made Castiel grit his teeth, and want to call them all lying, spineless hypocrites. For the sake of Heaven he did not.
Those who had followed him deserved this victory. They deserved to feel that they had achieved something, rather than remembering that Heaven was still in chaos, their numbers decimated, and many of their brothers and sisters still gone. In hiding. Seeking their own way. Perhaps biding their time before another came to lead them; to oppose Castiel.
And Castiel remembered Balthazar's warning that it would never be over.
In this moment, when others rejoiced the end of the war, Castiel sat on a park bench on Earth on a muggy summer evening and knew that it had barely even begun.
It should have worried Castiel more that he didn't even notice Dean's approach. He didn't realise Dean was there, standing right in front of Castiel holding out a paper bag until he said, "Man, you look like you need this more than I do."
For as long as Castiel had known him, Dean had never ceased to be able to surprise him.
"How did you know I was here?" Castiel asked, because he had told none of his brothers where he was going, could think of no way for Dean to have found out even if he had.
Castiel just couldn't be in Heaven right now.
Dean grinned. "I have my ways." He pressed the paper bag into Castiel's hands. It was a bottle. Castiel shook his head and moved over so that Dean could join him. He looked sober enough, maybe tired, but relaxed in the way he leaned back against the bench, stretching his legs out.
"A spell?" Castiel guessed, even though it shouldn't have been possible. He had once learned so many ways to hide himself.
"Nope." Dean took the bottle from Castiel , unscrewing the cap and taking a drink. Castiel watched as Dean grimaced at the taste. "Give it up. You'll never guess." Again he passed the bottle to Castiel. "Drink. Make me feel like I'm not an alcoholic."
Castiel wasn't sure if Dean was joking or not, but he supposed it didn't really matter. He took the bottle anyway and drank deeply.
It was a shame, he thought, how little it would do for him now. Whisky. He recognised the flavour, even if he could barely taste it.
Beside him, Dean cried, "Hey, hey, woah! Leave some for me!"
Holding the bottle up, Castiel saw that he had downed half the bottle.
"I was helping you to not be an alcoholic," he told Dean, because it seemed like a good excuse, and Dean laughed.
"Getting the hang of jokes, Cas?" Dean said approvingly, patting Castiel on the shoulder. His hand lingered, and Castiel welcomed the touch.
Shaking his head, Castiel replied. "I didn't mean it as a joke."
Dean sobered, and Castiel was regretful for that. "Yeah. I guess not."
Dean took the bottle back anyway, sipping slowly, looking away at the swings and the slide.
It was a full moon and late into the night, the park coloured in silvers and blues. There was no wind, and very little sound, and for a long time they just sat, Dean drinking occasionally, sometimes handing the bottle to Castiel. And Castiel enjoyed the chance to not think about anything but how he liked this peace. This quiet.
How here he didn't have to be anything other than himself.
He didn't know why he spoke, finally, except perhaps he thought that Dean might actually listen. "Raphael loved humanity, once."
Castiel felt Dean's gaze on him, but he didn't look back. He concentrated on the grass at his feet that looked almost black in the shadowed moonlight. "He fought for you, in the First War. He fought very hard."
"Yeah?" Dean said.
Castiel regretted so much. He didn't know how he could ever deserve to be called first among angels when he couldn't even justify himself in his own mind. When he couldn't decide what was right and wrong anymore. "I wish there had been another way."
"We always do," Dean agreed, and Castiel did look at him then. And there, Castiel saw why he fought, and he saw why he had killed his own kind, and why he would doubtless kill again. He thought, perhaps, it was worth the price.
Dean lifted the bottle. "A toast. To Raphael. He was a dick, but he was an angel, so that wasn't exactly a shocker, but he was your brother, and I guess he wasn't always an asshole." He drank, handed the bottle over to Castiel.
Raphael, Castiel imagined, would have hated this human custom. He raised the bottle as Dean had. "To Raphael, who was a good brother, until he wasn't." Drinking the remaining contents was an easy thing, and Castiel savoured what taste of it he could. And for some reason, the idea of annoying Dean appealed to Castiel.
Predictably, Dean called, "Cas, you asshole," swiping the bottle away and huffing indignantly. "You did that on fucking purpose."
"I did," Castiel admitted, and Dean looked as though he was trying not to smile.
"You could get me another," Dean suggested, shaking the empty bottle in front of Castiel's eyes. "You owe me that much."
"I owe you more, Dean," Castiel replied honestly, because he did, and because Dean had come and found him and given him everything he could. It was enough, Castiel thought, to feel companionship. Since Castiel had rebelled it was the one thing he had missed most keenly about Heaven and how it had been before. How he had been before. The end of this fight with Raphael, Castiel had come to realise, could never mean things going back to how they had once been.
Dean shook his head. "You really don't."
And Castiel wanted to say, "We will find a way to restore Sam," because Castiel knew better than most what it was to lose a brother. He wanted to say, "thank you," for the drink, and for showing him how to think and how to feel, and reminding him that he didn't always have to do things alone.
Sometimes, Castiel wondered if it would've been easier if he'd stayed just Castiel, soldier of his garrison and nothing more. If he'd let Earth fall, and Paradise arise, maybe he wouldn't have been happier that way. But then, he would never have known what it meant to be happy. Not really. And this place, this warm night with its quiet and its smell of grass and old wood and rusting metal would not exist.
Dean would not exist.
Castiel said nothing, because it was nothing Dean wanted to hear and nothing he would believe. Words had never been their way, so instead Castiel leaned forward, touching his fingers to Dean's cheek. He watched as Dean's eyes widened, followed the movements of his hand.
"Cas," Dean began. "You don't know-"
But Castiel did know, and he wanted, and he wanted Dean to see that, so he kissed him, pressing insistently against lips, hoping that Dean would get it.
Dean cared, and Dean trusted- some of the time at least- and Castiel wanted more, and this was what he had learned was more for humans. Something closer, a way to express affection that involved no words. Just actions. Like the way Castiel tasted Dean's mouth, and Dean parted his lips and let him, pushing back with his own lips and tongue, dropping the bottle to the ground so he could spread his hands across Castiel's back and pull him closer.
This was their way, and Castiel would not let Dean go because of all the things in the universe Castiel doubted and feared, he didn't doubt this.
.End.
Comments and concrit much loved and appreciated. I will be replying to comments over at the original fic posting on deancas_xmas shortly!