The exorcist, part 5
Humm... I should warn you guys that this part might be a tad more gory?
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PART 5
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Dean was sure he’d passed out at some point. The water just kept coming and his thoughts were watered down. He lost track of events, skipping chunks of what was happening, like a scratched record, skimming a slow song.
Every time the mad-man was done with one water bottle, Dean had a few minutes of respite as he went to pick the next one. After the third, Dean figured that the guy was going to use as many bottles as needed until Dean stopped struggling and died.
Even the crows seemed to know that. ‘Die! Die! Die!’ they seemed to cackle, their sound shrill, grating and echoing through the cracked walls with mounting enthusiasm.
Dean’s skin felt bloated, his stomach distended and swimming in water. His limbs, stretched taught and secured, had long lost all feeling. Dean was a broken cork, floating in water, waiting to sink.
‘Die! Die! Die!’
Even the silent figures on the stained glass windows agreed with the crows, staring down at him with pity in their dead eyes, not understanding why he resisted the inevitable.
There had been more reciting from the same black book diaper-man carried around with him, discombobulated words that floated in the air like soup-letter. Dean figured he was suppose to react to the ‘powerful’ words being whispered in his direction, but all he could care about was that diaper-man couldn’t read and pour water at the same time.
But even those brief moments, when the water stopped and Dean foolishly allowed himself to believe that it was all over, had become their own little form of torture as well.
Every time, every single time, a few passages later, once diaper-man was convinced that the ‘demons’ inside Dean’s had heard enough, the water was back. It felt heavier and heavier every time it started anew.
‘Die! Die! Die!’
The crows were right. Dean allowed himself to float away -and wasn’t the expression ironic as fuck- from that abandoned church; away from the man who was slowly killing him and most importantly, far from the deeply seeded feeling that he had failed his purpose of stopping Lucifer.
The crows screeching chant, “Die! Die! Die!” serenaded his slow drift and followed him beyond.
His father was there, and Michael was there. Standing side by side, they stared down at him, frowning. They seemed disappointed with his weakness, angered by his utter failure.
A little further on and Sam was there, Bobby, Castiel too, all three looking at him with pity; he had failed them the most, abandoning them to their fate, thinking that he could have done something about it.
There was a veil of water covering everything and Dean watched those scowling faces, diluted away further and further and further...
“That’s quite enough,” a familiar voice boomed. “For now.”
The steady downpour of water ceased with a splashing sound as the bottle hit the ground.
Dean knew that voice. He couldn’t quite place a name or a face on it yet, but the feelings of disgust and anger that the voice invoked in him, assured Dean that it was someone he knew. More than he wanted to.
Right now, however, the voice was telling the water to stop and the water obeyed and Dean fucking loved the sound of that voice.
Coughing and vomiting whatever extra liquid his stomach managed to cast out, Dean struggled back to the surface, willing his brain to come up with some sort of rational thought. Supply him with a name. It felt important that Dean knew who had spoken.
“It is you,” diaper-man said. There was such reverence and awe in the man’s voice that Dean shuddered. The idea that there was someone able to earn such a reaction from that naked freak... it was terrifying.
“Why didn’t you call me as you were commanded?” the now annoyed voice demanded. The new arrival sounded like some small potatoes businessman, aspiring to bigger dealings.
Heavy footsteps echoed through the church as voice owner slowly made his way to Dean’s side.
Dean was too spent and exhausted to raise his head and find out who it was, even if curiosity was making him consider the effort. He didn’t need to look, though; he could feel his eyes on him, skimming through the level of damage displayed on his body.
It made Dean feel acutely naked and exposed before his enemies, laid out and bound before them. Helpless and powerless, more vulnerable than he could ever recall feeling in his life. He closed his eyes, salted water leaking through.
It was all he could do not to show the fear that was clawing its way to the surface of his abraded skin. It made him want to scream.
“I was doing my job, oh exalted one,” the other man replied, defensive, offended. “That was the reason why you inspired me with your visit earlier, was it not? To find Dean Winchester and to rid his soul of its demons?”
A shadow fell over his face and Dean opened his eyes on reflex. Zachariah was looking down at him, smiling.
“I supposed you did,” the angel said, answering diaper-man’s question. “Hello, Dean.”
+
“You must come with me,” Castiel said as soon as he materialized in the room where he’d left Sam and Bobby. “Now.”
“Wow! Where, why and what the hell happened?” Sam let out in quick succession, pulling his arm out of Cass’ reach. He had a feeling that had he not, the angel would’ve just whisked him away without a word.
“Where’s the fire, son?” Bobby joined in, rolling his wheelchair closer to the angel. Cass seemed more disheveled than usual.
Castiel looked at him confused. “There is no fire, that I know of,” he pointed out. “I have, however, learned Dean’s whereabouts.”
The simple affirmation brought Sam to his feet. Bobby clenched the wheels of his chair tighter, clearly wishing he could do the same.
“Where?”
“Is he okay?”
The questions where simultaneous and equally vehement, both men eager for news.
“There is no time for lengthy explanations,” the angel said, turning to Sam once more. “Grab your weapons and ready yourself. We must hurry.”
“We’ll settle for the short version,” Bobby growled as his patience thinned. The angel seemed allergic to giving answers. Also, it hadn’t escaped his notice that Cass planned to take only Sam with him, disregarding Bobby’s aid without even a blink.
“You were right,” Castiel said, his eyes on Sam. “The Exorcist has followers, camped close to his location. They prayed for strength, so their leader could cleanse Dean’s soul.”
“Jesus!” Sam let out, his legs folding. The bed broke his landing, files sliding to the floor unnoticed. It was one thing to put clues together and theorize that a lunatic had Dean in his clutches; it was another to know for certain that, for the past week, Dean had been in that man’s hands, being tortured.
“They armed? Where is he keeping Dean?” Bobby asked, choosing to keep his mind on the task rather than wallow in despair. His face was as white-washed as Sam’s, but if both of them let their feelings run wild, Dean would never be rescued. And speaking of rescue… “Why didn’t you just grab him and leave?”
“They’re unarmed,” Castiel said, sounding progressively distressed by their continuous questions and Sam’s inaction. “I have not seen Dean, but I know wh-“
“What do you mean, you didn’t see him?” Sam pointed out. “Is he even ali-“
“You don’t understand!” Castiel cut in, his voice rising in one. “It was a prayer. Every angel in creation heard it.”
“Zachariah,” Sam supplied and before Castiel could nod he moved to get his gun. The weapon would do nothing about the angel, but the Exorcist would be fair game. Sam planned to fill that psychotic son-of-a-bitch with so much lead, the freak would think himself a change purse by the time Sam was done.
“He was already there,” Castiel said, earning a sharp look from Sam who’d been checking the load in his clip. “I need you to take Dean while I distract Zachariah.”
“Where? Is he in Chicago?” Bobby asked before they could both disappear. Trapped in a wheelchair there wasn’t much he could do in a fight, but he sure as hell could drive the van to the place and supply them with some get-away wheels. There was no way the angel would be able to ‘air-lift’ the three of them out of… wherever Dean was.
“Spear Woods, in the old Grimes house,” Castiel said mechanically, reciting back what he’d heard.
“I’ll be there in twen-“ Bobby said as he figured the fastest way to get there. It didn’t matter though. “-ty.” He was already speaking to an empty room.
+
Dean wanted to tell Zachariah and his smugness to fuck off and die, but his throat kept closing in on him, convulsively swallowing water that was no longer there. The ring gag, trapped between his teeth, had cut a gouge in the corner of his lips and now that he no longer had tons of water sliding down his face, Dean could feel something warmer trickling down. Blood.
“I gotta say,” the angel spoke softly, finger coming up to swipe the trickle of blood off Dean’s face. “There is a certain… justice to us meeting like this. I mean, I’ve wanted to ripe you apart for a long time now, but Michael might’ve frowned upon it, ruining his vessel and all that,” he went on, smiling to himself as he took in the scene. “But this… this is perfect.”
“Phmmk opph,” Dean tried anyway, just on principle. It didn’t matter that he had been on his way to meet Zachariah in the first place; it didn’t even matter that, now that the dick angel was there, Dean could finally say the Yes he’d been rushing for since he’d left Sam. If he could just skip the middle man, it would be fine by Dean, especially when the middle-fucking-man was getting off on seeing him half dead.
“Was that a ‘yes’ I heard, Dean?” Zachariah asked, mocking Dean’s attempt to speak. When Dean looked away, tired of seeing the never ending smugness on the angel’s face, Zachariah grabbed hold of his cheeks, pressing the flesh so hard Dean could feel the ring gag bite deeper into his lips. “Because this conversation will end with you saying that one word, you waddling ape. I don’t care if you still have all of your teeth, or your eyes or whatever the hell this lunatic decides to do to you next, but you’re not walking out of this without Michael inside of you.”
+
Sam looked up at the abandoned house, high roof cut clean against the moon-lit sky. With the vines and leaves covering its façade, it looked like a hairy beast gone through a washing machine’s spin cycle. “Dean’s in there?” Sam whispered without turning back.
Castiel was behind him, Sam could hear the soft flapping of his trench coat in the night’s cold breeze. When no immediate answer came, he looked over his shoulder.
The angel’s eyes were closed and his head was canted to the side. While it was a familiar pose, Sam was never sure if, when Castiel did that, he was listening to something just outside human ear’s range or if he was the person’s soul he was looking for, like a divining rod for the spirit.
“Inside the church,” Castiel said, eyes opening to fix on the mostly-still-standing building to their left. Being the smaller structure, Sam had barely cast a glance in its direction when they’d arrive, but now that he was looking more closely, he could see the stained glass windows. “Zachariah is in there as well and…” the angel stopped himself, looking in the opposite direction, “we are about to have company.”
“The followers?”
“Yes,” Castiel confirmed. “I believe Zachariah’s performance before has… inspired them.”
Sam almost rolled his eyes at the thought of Zachariah inspiring anything but contempt in anyone. Almost. “There’s only two of us… how the hell do we do this?”
The smile that Castiel gave him reminded Sam so much of Dean’s that he felt a chill race up his spine.
+
Diaper-man came back. Distracted by Zachariah’s glee, Dean hadn’t even noticed that he’d been gone in the first place.
Dean wanted to scream and shout at the man, tell him that he was being fooled, that Zachariah was using him and would not lift a finger when his soul was delivered to Hell’s door instead of Heaven, but neither of them seemed inclined to remove the damn gag from his mouth. His jaw ached from the prolonged extension.
“I believe his demons are ready to come out now,” Zachariah said, throwing a knowing smile in Dean’s direction even though his words were aimed at the madman.
Dean struggled against his bindings, weakly jerking against rope that had no give. His muscles felt paralyzed, locked in that awkward position as if they no longer remembered what their use was. Anger built inside Dean’s chest, escaping through his open mouth in a guttural groan. He knew what was coming next. He’d known it ever since he’d seen those jars filled to the brim with eyeballs.
“Don’t worry… I won’t let him take out both eyes,” Zachariah whispered to Dean’s ear. “Just the right one, I think.”
Dean bit against the metal ring to stop himself from tearing his own throat out in failed growls of hate and helplessness. He couldn’t tell if the angel was bluffing or not. After all, there wasn’t any damage that diaper-man could do to Dean’s body that Michael couldn’t fix, but… his eyes…
The decision to let everything go and allow Michael to use his body like he was a pair of socks had already been made in Dean’s mind; he’d made his peace with leaving behind those he loved, made his peace with giving up his freedom. But he had planned to do it in his own terms, at his own pace.
Pay a visit to Lisa, maybe throw some ball with Ben; explain his reasons to Sam and Bobby even if it was simply in a scribbled note; make sure that his baby and his meager possessions, like dad’s coat, the keys to the Impala and his favorite gun, found their way to the few that knew how important they were to Dean.
And one last sunrise.
It was as cheesy as a dripping double cheese big burger, but Dean didn’t care about it one bit. Sunrises were important to him.
When most of what he’d hunted all his live lived in the night, the sight of the sun rising in the horizon was the one sign that always told Dean that he’d survived another day, that his job had been done right.
How could Dean see one last sunrise if Zachariah let this lunatic take away his eyes?
“Do you wish to...?” Diaper-man asked, tentatively, like a child offering the last cookie even though he’s salivating over it. The glint of metal coming from the scalpel in his hands was as far away from a cookie as Dean could imagine though.
With a sick feeling to his stomach, Dean realized that diaper-man was offering Zachariah the chance to pluck Dean’s eye out himself.
The angel looked at the sharp instrument, the hint of temptation in his eyes. “I‘m only here to supervise,” Zachariah eventually said, eyes scanning the room feigning his lack of interest. “Carry on.”
Dean’s struggles redoubled. He couldn’t feel his broken wrist; he couldn’t feel the skin breaking around his bindings or the taptaptap sound as his blood dropped to the wet floor at doubled speed. Pathetic sounds of pleading escaped his mouth as the man grabbed hold of Dean’s soaked hair and held his head steady, blade nearing his right eye.
Dean froze. The scalpel was so close that if he as much breathed to deeply, the blade would pierce his eye.
Using his knees once more to trap Dean’s head, diaper-man used his free hand to pry Dean’s eyelid back, exposing as much of the right eye as he could.
The sting of tears that flooded Dean’s eyes and rolled profusely down his cheeks, could have been blamed on the forced exposure, on the dusty air, even on the man’s foul breath hitting him full in the face.
Dean knew better than that. He was scared; he was terrified.
As the first blood was drawn, Dean could no longer fool himself. Zachariah was going to allow this to happen and there was no one else there to help him.
+
“You lied to those people,” Sam whispered, watching the group of followers dim in the distance. “You looked them right in the face and lied through your angelic teeth.”
Sam was kind of impressed, actually. Castiel had stood his ground, opened his wings and announced that the Good Shepherd wished for all of them to spread the Good Word to those imprisoned. A high sacrifice to ask, certainly, but who better than them? All they needed to do was find the nearest police officer and tell of their actions. The Lord would provide the rest.
Sam figured that, save for the kids, those people would all be in prison come morning. He couldn’t find it in him to pity a single one of them.
“I’ve been practicing,” Castiel said. “Dean once said that if we really want something, we must lie,” he said in all seriousness, like he was reciting an ancient prophecy written in stone. “And I really wanted for none of them to interfere in what we need do next.”
Sam smiled sadly. Only Dean could totally corrupt an angel through loyalty. “How are we getting inside?” he asked. There was only one way in that he could see and busting through the front door wasn’t exactly his idea of stealth.
Sam’s answer came in the shape of a faint air displacement and the next thing he knew, the crisp, cold air of outside had been replaced by thick, dusty and moldy air.
The second his eyes stopped scanning the room for his brother and landed on the pale, extended body near the front of the church, Sam stumbled back a half step. He couldn’t even recognize Dean at first.
Too thin, his brain told him; too pale and most of all, too terrified. That could not be his brother.
When Sam could no longer deny that the whimpering body surrounded by a strange man in a loincloth and Zachariah was in fact Dean, he had to cover his mouth with his hand to stop himself from gasping out loud.
“We must hurry,” Castiel said, so faintly it was almost telepathy. “Can you deal with the human?”
The angel’s question was more about whether Sam could he deal with his own raw emotions rather than wondering if he could defeat the all but naked, skinny man. Castiel had been there when Sam had taken on Alastair and won and that had been a proper challenge.
Recent history hadn’t been kind to Sam’s increasing worry and anger. With Alistair, they’d been there in time to rescue Dean, but only just. It had been close. Too close, and the physical damage Dean had suffered in the end, had taken a toll on Sam emotionally.
“I can take him,” Sam supplied, hands closing into fists.
The man in the linen cloth whispered something to Zachariah, head bowed in submission as he extended his arm. He was too far for Sam to see what he was holding, but the angel’s reply echoed through the empty church. “Carry on,” Sam heard crystal clear.
Sam’s stomach plummeted. “No…” he whispered as realization struck. Rather than take his brother away from that lunatic, Zachariah had decided to stick around to enjoy the show. His blood froze as the madman grabbed hold of Dean’s face, the glint of a blade in his fingers.
The images of all of those victims with their eyes cut out came unbidden to Sam’s mind. “No…” his whisper became more audible. Without another thought, the gun was in his hands and he was standing.
The shot rang like a bomb going off in the enclosed space, closely followed by the flapping wings of scared crows flying away.
By the time Sam realized that he’d fired, he was expecting to see the Exorcist’s dead body on the floor. The gesture might’ve been unconscious, but his aim was always true. And he’d been aiming straight at the naked man’s bald head.
Instead, the madman was staring right at him. Everyone was staring right at him.
The madman with surprise.
Dean with relief.
Zachariah with a mocking smile. Lifting his hand, he opened it. Sam watched as something metallic fell from his palm followed by the soft ping of the spent bullet hitting the stone floor.
“Shit,” Sam whispered to himself. He’d blown their only advantage. Surprise.
“I should’ve known that wherever little Deanny is, his lamb is sure to follow,” Zachariah teased. One flick of his fingers, and the gun was ripped from Sam’s hands. It landed with a metallic clatter, somewhere under the pile of crates, on the far side of the church.
Castiel charged the minute the other angel’s attention was on Sam. He was silent as a comet traveling through space, equally deadly and unstoppable. The angel blade in his hand cut through the air, elegant and powerful, aimed straight at Zachariah’s throat.
But Zachariah was somehow quicker. With one hand up he grabbed the blade, stopping its trajectory before it could strike his neck. “And the obedient dog too, of course,” he mused and pulled the sword out of Castiel’s grasp with a strong jerk. “You really should learn to pick on someone your own size, Castiel.”
Everything after that happened too fast. Zachariah flung Castiel against the wall with such strength that the whole structure shuddered. Before Sam could lock eyes with the friendly angel, his body lost contact with the floor and he too was flying through the air.
One of the ceiling beams, solid piece of wood that it was, rushed in his direction and Sam barely had time to brace himself before his midsection impacted with it. A “ooph!” rushed unbidden out of his chest, as his lungs forcefully emptied and everything turned dark for a few seconds.
When the world regained focus around him, Sam could see Castiel, trapped like he was, against the ceiling beam in front of him. Directly bellow, Dean was staring at them, tears blinking out of his eyes as he realized that his rescuers were as deeply screwed as he was.
“Go on,” Zachariah’s peevishly tone echoed through the place. “Don’t let these morons distract you from your task.”
+
Dean would give anything, anything to have Sam and Castiel not witness what was about to happen.
When the gun had gone off, even before seeing him, Dean knew it had been Sam firing. It was Sam’s favorite gun, the one he used whenever he got the chance and Dean had heard it discharge so many times that he could recognize it’s blast in the middle of a firing range.
Dean hadn’t been able to stop the wave of relief that had washed over him as he realized that, somehow, against all odds, Sam had found him. Just in the nick of time.
The big brother in him, however, was dying of worry. Surely Sam hadn’t been foolish enough to come alone into a situation filled with unknown players, right? Cass had been with him when Dean left, so he hoped that the angel was still around to give Sam a hand.
As if in answer to his prayers, Castiel leaped out of the shadows, his face calm and unexpressive as he thrust a blade in Zachariah’s direction.
Dean realized that he was going to fail seconds before Zach snatched the sword from the other angel.
He wanted to scream at Sam to run, to get away from that place before they all ended up dead, but he had neither the time nor the means to say a single word. All he could do was stare as everything fell apart around him.
Because of him.
Soon, the idea of being saved was nothing but a fading dream. Castiel rose in the air, trench coat lifting like a set of wings, until he was trapped against one of the ceiling beams.
Sam soon followed, matching set of rescuers staring down at Dean. And Dean had no choice but to stare back, to see the despair and pity and failure taking hold of one set of blue eyes and one set of greenish-blue.
Dean’s vision mercifully unfocused as diaper-man resumed his task and grabbed hold of his right eyelid once again.
“I’ll fucking kill ya!”
Sam. Screaming from above the words Dean had been dying to say ever since he’d been gagged.
“Let him go, you sick fuck!” Sam went on, face read and neck taut from the force he was putting against the invisible bounds.
“Don’t make me cut off your tongue, boy,” Zachariah said quietly, menacingly. “Because, trust me when I tell you, that Dean will not appreciate eating it when I shove it down his throat.”
Sam was livid with rage, having nothing but his mouth to run off and attack Zachariah and crazy-man, but Dean could see his brother biting his bottom lip, forcing himself to stay quiet and not cause Dean any more trouble.
That was the only reason why the angel hadn’t killed Sam and Cass, Dean was sure of it. Insurance, in case Dean felt uncooperative even after his eyes were cut out.
“You are an embarrassment to our kind,” Castiel spat out, struggling hopelessly against the hold the other angel was using to keep him pinned. “An abomination, as twisted as Lucifer himself.”
Dean was sure that, if he had the power, Zachariah would’ve turned Castiel into ‘chunky soup’ right then and there for that accusation. But Zach was no archangel, he just worked for one.
“You know what?” Zachariah said, his face red with anger even as he played it cool. “He is leverage,” he said, pointing at Sam. “You... I don’t really need.”
With a snap of his fingers, Castiel was surrounded in light before his vessel’s body was sucked away. Banished, much in the same way as the blood spell they’d learned from Anna worked.
“May I proceed?” diaper-man asked in a low voice, not daring to interrupt while Zachariah vented his anger.
“Why did you even stop?” the angel said, annoyed at the delay. “Get on with it,” he signaled, hand flapping disdainfully in Dean’s direction.
First lesson Dean had learned from Alastair had been in human anatomy. The demon had spent years teaching Dean about every muscle in the human body, carving entire strings of flesh to show him how long and strong an adductor longus really was; how the deltoid muscles were named for their triangular shape: that no matter how much of the tongue was chopped off, whatever portion left could still taste bitterness...
That to effectively cut out a human eye, without turning it into mush, it had to be popped out so that the nerves at the back could be reached with ease.
Alastair had spent a lot of time practicing that on Dean’s eyes. They were pretty, he used to say. Still so... human.
It was the scooping that freaked out Dean the most. Like popping an oversize zit. Diaper-man did it with ease, the practiced movements of someone who’d done it way too many times.
Dean screamed. A long, guttural and feral scream that bounced from wall to wall until it came back to Dean’s ears.
After that, everything blurred. Literally and figuratively.
Even out of its place, Dean’s right eye could still see. Unfocused and blurry, but it was still working. The skewed view was nauseating, disturbing.
When diaper-man started severing the optic nerve, Dean was almost grateful. Until the pain really hit.
Somewhere at a distance, Sam was screaming too. But all Dean could deal with was the burning pain in his eye and the long, flesh-eating scream that erupted through his throat again.
Dean had expected to see nothing to his right side once the eye was cut out; the lightning flash followed by a complete darkness that enveloped him, were a complete surprise.
+
“Stop! God... please stop!”
Sam screamed until his voice gave out. His muscles, struggling against thin air, had given out long before that. He didn’t even mind that there was a fifteen-foot drop to the ground if he succeeded in escaping Zachariah’s hold, that he would probably break his neck if the angel let him go.
Sam just wanted to get his hands around that skinny man’s neck and squeeze until he heard bone break.
From above, he could see everything in detail. High definition to the goriest channel on TV.
And Dean was the star of the show.
When his brother’s body went limp, Sam feared the worst. The other victims had died under duress, their hearts giving out from the pain.
And Sam could not imagine worse pain than having your eye cut out while you were conscious and fully aware.
Bile rose anew to his mouth. Sam swallowed it, fearful that if he let it go, he might hit Dean instead of the two dicks torturing him. God! that man had cut Dean’s eye out and Zachariah had just stood there, watching with a pleased look on his face.
Sam couldn’t understand the reasons behind the angel’s actions. After all, Dean had fallen into this mess when he was about to say ‘Yes’ to Michael.
Was Zachariah doing this just out of spite? Some sort of twisted vengeance because Dean had taken too long to give him the answer he wanted?
The man in the linen cloth moved away from Dean’s side, bloody eye in the palm of his hand, and placed it reverently inside a glass bowl on the floor. The organ just sat there; green orb vacant and frozen on the last image Dean had seen and Sam had to look away. He could tell that the man was not done yet. Sam couldn’t watch as he mutilated Dean again.
The sounds of angry voices make Sam turn his gaze once more to what was happening below him.
“It is my duty to finish,” the mad man yelled, for a moment forgotten of whom he was talking to. “You must let me finish, or this will all be for naught!”
“I said one is enough,” Zachariah yelled back, looming over the smaller man. “He’s learned his lesson for now. Your job here is done. Cut him loose and leave us,” the angel ordered. “Your services are no longer needed,” he added in a cordial tone of voice that told of how much he didn’t care for what humans wanted or thought.
“But his soul-“
“Is my concern now, not yours,” Zachariah let out, his patience running low. “Scoot.”
For a moment, Sam was sure that the Exorcist would continue to insist until Zach got fed up and killed the man. He would’ve liked to see that.
Instead, the serial killer that had the entire Chicago PD chasing after him and a flock of followers thinking that he was better than the second coming, held his tongue and did as Zachariah commanded. Like a well trained puppy.
It was pathetic.
Sam watched in silence as the naked man released Dean from his bindings and removed the hideous contraption that was keeping his mouth wide open, even in unconsciousness. When he placed Dean on the floor of the church, head to the altar and his body along the central corridor, Sam couldn’t even be sure that his brother’s chest was still moving.
Zachariah paced around Dean’s body, fixing his tie, victorious smile on his face. He looked like an enormous peacock, grooming his feathers for a big date. Or a lawyer, getting ready for his final speech.
Which... didn’t make any sense to Sam. Why would Zachariah need any further persuasive methods to make Dean agree to let Michael in if that was what Dean seemed to want all this time?
It hit Sam that Zachariah might’ve had no idea that Dean wanted to say ‘Yes’. He hadn’t been there when the angel arrived, but if Dean had had that thing in his mouth since then, he wouldn’t have been able to say a single word.
Or maybe, Sam figure with growing hope, Dean had in fact recovered his senses and changed his mind on the matter.
Either way, they needed to get out of there.
Sam had no idea how far Zach had thrown Cass, but he figured it was up to him to do something to get Dean away from there. Dean had already lost too much -and Sam was trying really, really hard to not think about the bloody hole where his brother’s eye used to be- and, although Zachariah had put a leash on that lunatic for now, there was no telling when the muzzle might be coming off again.
Looking around, taking advantage of his bird’s eye view. The place was mostly taken over by debris and trash; there was a dead snake a few feet away where Dean lay that made Sam really not want to consider how long it had been there and whether or not it been alive in Dean’s presence at some point.
Sam spotted his gun, lying almost on the other side of the room.
Castiel’s sword, the only thing that could really kill an angel, was forgotten, discarded under the skewed pew where Dean had been just minutes before. It was the closest weapon Sam could get to, but he needed to be on the ground for that first.
“So this is how low you’ve stooped?” Sam called out, trying to draw Zachariah’s attention away from his brother, to distract him. As long as the angel was focused enough to keep Sam pinned to the ceiling beam, there was nothing that he could do. “Getting serial killers to do the dirty little work for you?”
“We each play our part, Sam,” Zachariah replied, looking up at his captive. “And once Michael has his vessel, you’ll get to play yours as well, don’t you worry.”
“Dean will never say yes,” Sam stated. It wasn’t as much as a bluff, playing on the fact that Dean seemed to have already made his decision, but on Sam’s knowledge of his brother. He trusted Dean; he knew his brother. And hew was sure that, once the despair had stopped blinding him, Dean would do the right thing. “I trust him.”
Sam just hoped Zachariah gave his brother enough time to see reason.
“Yapyapyap,” Zachariah mocked, his hand quaking as he went. “There’s no shutting up with you Winchesters, is there?”
Sam opened his mouth, just to prove to the angel just how right he was, and was surprised when nothing came out.
“Much better,” the angel sighed, turning his attention back to Dean. The tip of his spotless shoes poked against Dean’s ribs, hard enough to almost roll the hunter over. “Quit stalling. I know you’re awake. Time to play twenty questions.”
+
Sam’s voice was like a beacon of light inside the dark pit Dean had fallen into. He was drawn into it, lured into a false sense of security. If Sam was there, things couldn’t be that bad, could they?
The surge of pain that hit as soon as Dean’s brain connected with his body was almost enough to send him back to the dark.
Dean’s face was on fire and he could feel every muscle along his back and thighs screaming in agony. His stomach felt heavy and full, like the world’s biggest belch was just waiting to come up. Even his chest hurt, gurgling, stabbing pain that hit with every short breath he took.
The nagging sense that Sam was in as much danger as he was kept Dean from slipping back into the sweet numbness of unconsciousness.
Sam’s voice seemed to come from far away, like he was on top of a tower, whispering to someone down below. Zachariah… Sam was talking to Zachariah.
Scratch that. Sam was poking at the angel, trying to get him pissed. And yet, amidst the taunting, there was a degree of unmoving faith in Dean that seeped into Sam’s every word. Sam believed, trusted that, despite all evidence, Dean would still say no.
The fool.
Slowly, the overwhelming sensations that every fiber in his body was trying to shoot at once, receded enough for Dean to realize just how screwed they were.
No matter how good it had felt to see Sam come to his rescue, despite all odds against that happening, Dean wished for nothing else but for his brother to not be there now. Not now.
That had been the whole reason why Dean had left in the first place, getting as far away from Sam was he could before calling Michael. Despite the fact that Dean knew it to be the right course of action, their only course of action, Sam’s presence complicated things.
For one, there was no guarantee that Zachariah wouldn’t kill Sam, or worse, force him to call Lucifer and set the final battle right there and then. It was a risk neither of them could take; a risk the world could not afford.
A pointy shoe buried itself in his ribs and Dean groaned.
“Quit stalling. I know you’re awake,” Zachariah’s grating voice sounded from above, punctuating his poking foot. “Time to play twenty questions.”
“Fuck off and die,” Dean gasped out, enjoying the feeling of being able to use his voice again. He could still feel the rope around his wrists and ankles, but his limbs were no longer tethered. Free to move, at last, but still with zero chance of convincing his spasming muscles to do their work and get him out of there.
Dean wanted to open his eyes and scowl at the angel, he wanted to look up and see his brother, he wanted to find out why Cass was so silent. But the feeling of having his eye cut out was too fresh, his whole face burning with white hot pain and the sense of emptiness where his eye used to be was more than he could handle. Despite the fact that his left eye still worked, Dean couldn’t bring himself to use it.
“Do you really think you’re in a position to do anything else but lick my shoes, boy?” Zachariah let out, anger getting the best of him as he pulled Dean up by his short hair until he was on his feet. “Now, the way I see it, you have two choices here,” the angel went on, pacing the floor around a wobbly Dean. “You can continue to be stubborn and I call that maniac back and he can finish his job, in which case you die and I have full control of your soul. Or, you do the smart thing, we call Michael and I’ll even fix your missing eyeball for you... as a bonus.”
“You’re all heart, anyone ever told you that?” Dean spat, left hand flying out to grab on to something, anything to keep him standing. The blood rush as he got to his feet had been bad enough, but without the benefit of looking around and centering himself, Dean was just growing dizzier and dizzier. Zachariah, prowling around him, voice direction always changing, wasn’t helping matters one bit.
“I’m tired of this game... what will it be, boy?”
Dean bit his lip, hand finally connecting with cold stone as he found one of the church’s pillars. Somewhere above, Sam was watching him, Dean could feel it. “I have some conditions.”
Zachariah’s steps paused. Dean could practically hear his eyebrow rising. “I’m sure that won’t be a problem...”
“I need your word Sam and Cass walk free out of here,” Dean started.
“Done,” the angel said without even pausing for consideration. Dean wasn’t sure if that was because his requests were that obvious and expected or because the angel had no intention of keeping his word.
“There’s also a few people I want you to make sure stay safe once the battle starts,” Dean went on. In between the darkness and the echoing walls, he felt like he was in a confessionary, admitting to all the people that he cared about and feared for. “Bobby, Lisa and her kid, Missouri-“
“If you’re thinking about naming everyone you’ve ever met, think again. Those are quite enough,” Zachariah cut him short. “So, what’s your answer?”
Dean had the word in the tip of his tongue, ready to be spoken, but only silence followed. Somewhere at a distance, a can rolled out. If he listened very carefully, Dean could hear the disgruntled sounds Sam was trying to make but failing for some reason. “The answer is yes,” Dean said with a heavy heart. “But not before I see and talk to my brother one last time.”
Dean was sure the angel was going to say no, that he was going to tell him to buck up and stop stalling already. Instead, there was a sound of snapping fingers and the pain in Dean’s face doubled.
Screaming, he fell to his knees, gasping, hands flying to his eyes. He was sure he would taste fire when his fingers touched his face, but instead, it was two mounds he could feel with the tips of his fingers, both eyes moving beneath his eyelids.
When he felt confident enough to open his eyes again, Dean found himself staring straight at Sam.
His brother’s face was washed in tears.
tbc
Master post